


Guardian Dressed in White

by blxck_heart



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel & Human Interactions, Angel Louis, Angst, Baby Louis, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Belts, Bondage and Discipline, Bottom Louis, Brutal Murder, Dark Harry, Dom Harry, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealer Niall, Eventual Fluff, Flashbacks, Forced, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Graphic Description, Harry Has a Daddy Kink, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Innocent Louis, JUST, Kidnapping, Louis-centric, M/M, Mean Harry, Mob Boss Harry, Niall Horan & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Past Child Abuse, Psycho Harry, Random - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sad Louis, Sad Niall, Scared Louis, Sexual Violence, Smut, Spanking, Sub Louis, Tiny Louis, Top Harry, Torture Sessions, Vengeful Demon(s), Watersports, Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson Fluff, angst with possible happy ending, biblical, harrys a proper dick throughout the story, harrys really mean to lou&; louis doesn't know why, idk - Freeform, im just making up tags as i go along; aha - enjoy, possible ziam, still haven't decided, though he has some good times, zayn is really protective of louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8949007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blxck_heart/pseuds/blxck_heart
Summary: "A man without enemies is a man without qualities. Even Jesus Christ had many enemies." Louis' an guardian angel, God himself has sent down to our planet earth to protect a unique child. This child in particular has the ability to change the world and all it's inhabitants in the most beautiful of ways.But things don't go exactly as God predicted they would...especially when big, bad mafia boss Harry Styles comes into the picture.♡♡♡♡♡" I looked into your eyes and my world came tumbling down. Your the Devil in disguise."-Madonna





	1. Caution (before you read)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of these characters. I don't even own the humorous disclaimer I was going to originally put here.
> 
> But, by chance, if these characters did belonged to me, I would be living somewhere erotic...I mean *exotic. Say the Caribbean maybe.
> 
> I'd have a nice luxurious cabin located somewhere near the mountains, the only residence present being both Curly and Blue eyes. It'd have solar panel lighting, central air, and most importantly a grand library. So Harry can sit by the fire place reading tragic romance novels, while Louis' down stairs in the kitchen making pancakes and sausage.
> 
> The tiny lad accidentally lighting the horrendous concoction on fire while trying to cook his dear 'ole husband a hearty breakfast, meal.
> 
> Oooh silly twink, you don't know how to cook!
> 
> Anyway, like I stated before, I do not own any of the persons mentioned in this fic but boy if I did....( ‾ʖ̫‾) *wink.aha.*wink
> 
> Aha; hope you enjoy reading my book as much as I didn't enjoy writing it! Just kidding! I hope you don't enjoy it at all.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings.
> 
> Warnings.
> 
> & more warnings ! ! !

* * *

 

Below you will find a list (in no particular order) of common trigger warnings. If discussing one of these things, I myself will put a simple _"Trigger Warning:_ [Subject]" before a post.

Please note: This is a work in progress. If there are any triggers you feel are missing, please feel free to let me know so I can fix it.

 

**Warnings:**

*Rape (I will most defiantly warn you all if and when it happens... I'm still trying to figure out if I'll include it or not)

*Abuse (physical, mental, emotional, verbal, sexual)

*Child abuse

*Self-injurious behavior (self-harm, eating disorders, etc.)

*Talk of drug use (legal, illegal, or psychiatric)

*Suicide descriptions

*Blood and gore (sorry if your squeamish)

*Descriptions/pictures of violence or warfare (including instruments of violence, such as knives or guns etc.)

*Shaming

*Sexism (hatred of sexualities or genders)

*Non-vanilla (wink. wink.)

*Fat shaming

*Body image shaming

*Kidnapping (forceful deprivation of/disregard for personal autonomy)

*Discussions of sex (consensual/ non-consensual)

*Violence

*Murder

*Death

*Swearing

*Abusive language

*Sex

*Nudity

 

    

 

P.s. I found this photo from the web. The creators name is @ hisboylouis. I don't know them personally but I'd like to thank them for this beautiful photo and inspiration. Annnd a big thanks to my wonderful friend "Hillbilly" for helping me come up with somewhat of a plot for this story.

 

Love ya, saladarse!

 


	2. Angel of Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the arms of an angel / Fly away from here / From this dark cold hotel room / And the endlessness that you fear / You are pulled from the wreckage / Of your silent reverie / You're in the arms of the angel / May you find some comfort there.
> 
> -SARAH MCLACHLAN,  
> "Angel"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See notes at the end of chapter.

* * *

 

    

 

"Lou! Get your big arse out of bed before breakfast gets cold!"

are the first words Louis hears as he jolts awake from his restless slumber. His mind a mess of whirring, jumbled thoughts and pinching worries.

He hasn't had much sleep in the last two years since his arrival to earth. Most days consisting of protecting his child from all the dangers he deliberately puts himself through.

Lazily glancing to his left Louis notes the time. 12 p.m. Meaning he's slept in.

Last night he went on a wild - goose chase. Hopping from bar to bar. House to house. In search of a certain fake blond.

Later finding his target in their bathroom. Lying unconscious. . .--

An elastic band tightly enclosed around his forearm and a needle innocently lying at his finger tips.

That was quite a nerve racking time, Louis has to admit.

Tugging a pair of grey, Nike sweatpants up curvaceous legs. Then slipping on his lucky, purple, fuzzy socks; Lou departs from his small bedroom.

Drowsily trudging down the spiral stairwell and into the dinning room where he plops down onto the kitchen stool.

There he sat. Tired-eyed and slumped over the garnet tables glistening countertop.

"Good morning, NiNi." he mutters, wearily. Yawning with closed eyes.

"Mornin', Loubear!" his roommate chirps in reply. Looking much better than he did the previous night.

Louis' been living with the Irish lad for about a year and a half now and he's still not even close to making any progress with the boy known as, Niall James Horan.

 _Niall_ . . .- the boy who repeatedly tells lies to mislead Louis of his whereabouts.

Claiming the ever famous line of, "I went on a walk around town." or "I was at a friends place, Lou."

Nattering all these fibs when in actuality, he'd been out buying and/ or using drugs and alcohol.

He has often lied about where the hundreds of thousands of dollars went [that Lou has hidden under his bedrooms floor boards]; literally months, weeks— _days_ after Louis has willingly handed Niall half of the money that he, himself, worked his fingers to the bone to acquire.

Louis has an epiphany he deducted about 7 months back that the more Niall feels he needs drugs; the more likely he is to feel the need to lie.

He dislikes when Niall lies to him. But he doesn't speak anything of it.

Especially when he knows that Lou is conscious of the truth but still chooses the road of deceit.

The heaven sent Angel often questions to himself, _'What have I done wrong to not'ave gained his trust?'_ or the occasional, _'Why can't he just tell the truth to my face. . .towards me.'_

Louis just wants to extend the light of a helping hand in the midst of all that is dark and corrupted in Nialls life.

That's his job.

This is the one purpose of an angels life.

That same purpose that's been taught and installed into every angels mindset since birth.

See, here's how the process goes— angels [ all guardian angels in general ] are gently helping to _"wake up"_ people who have a mission here on earth to serve others and help the planet on the ascension path.

They are the light beings of glow from the higher dimensions, who are present in this universe to be of service.

The angels sincerely wish to help and serve... but they must honor humans free will and creativity.

So to allow their assistance, one must first ask for it and accept it.

The messenger of God, just wants Niall to acknowledge and accept the fact that he is put on this earth for him and only him.

Our poor, guilt filled Niall was placed in the hands of an angel to help achieve his destiny. A destiny that will no doubt shape our ends.

But to achieve such a fate he must first change his way of life. For the better, not the worse.

 _Never_ the worse.

Niall's an addicted person. And Louis really wants him to thrive & be happy.

The heavenly messenger wishes to help the Irish lad with his addictions, rather than pressing the use of narcotics and the demon rum. Unlike the majority of the blonds _'mates'._

The same mates that demean Nialls value and help with destroying his image.

You know; those toxic friendships...

The one's that stress you out. Use you. Are unreliable. Demand too much. And don't give a damn thing back to you in return!

They discourage you from trying new things & entertaining new hobbies; simply because they'd rather you not improve or grow in any way.

Yeah. . . Those types of _"friends"_ are the people Niall chooses to hang around and even so much as breath the same air as.

Believe me when I say, Louis tries to encourage good decisions. But the addicted person himself is on too grand of a destructive track to abide by his words.

The allure of the drugs is _so_ powerful. . .-

It's like Niall feels as if he needs the drugs to function.

To be able to get through another day.

To aid him along with his immense anxiety and depression.

To not get so desperately sick from withdrawal.

So, he manipulates those who are in a sense feeble & more prone to relying on others rather than themselves.

He's obtained the characteristics of a vulture. Preying on the weak, powerless, and dependent.

Mooching off of their feelings of compassion and care. Just, blatantly using them in general.

And now, he's found the perfect victim to do just that.

Exploit!

His patsy has light brown hair that is usually messy. With pretty- _azure_ , baby blues.

Once upon a time this particular _'someone'_ would wear something along the lines like say for example, a blue and white striped tee with red pants and braces.

Which were but one of his widely known trademarks to all who knew him.

Another of said trademarks were his absolute love for carrots. Though he isn't quite fond of the taste or even the sight of the tangerine vegetable anymore.

Simply because, best mates Luke and Stan pelted him with bags & bags of baby carrots as an April fool's joke.

Or as they call it in heaven, "the day the human world begin the acts of demented loons!"

Yes. A certain patsy who isn't prideful yet tremendously breathtaking. But he- _himself_ doesn't even know it.

Someone who can make you smile, without even having to try.

One who's musings are enjoyed by the many of individuals, whom often comment on how he should take up the profession of a comedian.

Though, as the saying goes, "laughter is the best medicine." And if the expression  is true, you'd in fact call him a proper doc.

That is if said doctor was anything like the divine being, Louis William Tomlinson.

Louis and doctors do just about the same thing.

I mean, don't all doctors distribute drugs to their convalescents?

Though the use of said drugs doctors dispense onto their sick patients would no doubt be used to help an individual to recover from whatever illness it was the paient was experiencing.

And _well_ , that's just not what Louis' profession entitled.

It'd just so happen, Louis' field in the medical world would be more about distributing money to his patient's.

Niall himself being the patient who'd seek out his drug dealer to obtain the drugs, rather than Louis.

Niall often attained drugs like ecstasy, cocaine, opiates, alcohol, LSD, M-cat, and methamphetamine.

Even synthetics like spice and even marijuana that can change a person who was once loving and open with their friends and family into someone who has to manipulate everyone & everything, so they will let them keep using drugs.

Drugs that in theory do not make you happy.

In actuality what they do, do is mask your unhappiness by creating a diversion.

And with love in his guardian angels heart, Lou— more often than not, tries to convince the addicted person to stop using these deadly substances.

To go to rehab. To recover...

But his answer?

\-- "I have it under control, Lou."

"You're just jealous because I can have fun and you can't."

"I can stop any time I want!"

"You never want me to enjoy myself."

"It's your fault I'm this way!"

"You don't even try to understand how I feel."

"You wouldn't say that if you loved me!" --

These are only but a few of the one too many examples of Nialls overly used quotes.

And as many of you've already guessed it, time and time again, Louis falls for them.

Not because he feeds into Nialls never ending lies and promises.

But because Louis wants to believe he's trying.

He wants to have confidence in the belief that Niall will have his moment of clarity and will seek the help he needs.

Niall has to realize he's causing great harm to himself and other's by living such a dangerous lifestyle.

He should really get serious about changing his ways, as death is no laughing matter.

It's just, Louis doesn't understand why Niall couldn't just forgive and forget the past.

But when memories recall of the boys upbringing he can understand why Niall insists on living the life he is now.

See, Niall was only ten when his drug use began.

Both of his parents being active addicts.

His mom was the one who got him into the lifestyle.

She's always acted like a teenager. More of a friend than a mother.

She gave him pills for his first time.

Niall was living with her back then and consistently started using— _taking_ a bunch of pills, smoking weed, and drinking a lot.

The pills were his main thing:

Percocet, Vicodin, and a lot of downers.

He struggled with depression & his parents were both physically and verbally abusive.

So he started abusing himself with the drugs.

Cutting, bulimia, anorexia, and the many _many_ women he kept bringing in and out of his life.

He started acting out.

Misbehaving, like your typical teenage drug addict at the ripe age of eleven. Stealing and sneaking out at night.

But it was all pointless. As his mother  was high all the time and never once noticed.

By age 13 he was living in a shelter with his mom and older brother Greg. The cops found them there and took him back to his dad's.

He was _very_ abusive.

His own drug of choice being Xanax.

Niall started doing a lot of meth, coke, and ecstasy those next three years.

Til this day, those being his favorite drugs of choice.

 

Ω  ~~Louis' Pov~~ Ω

 

"A-are you— _okay_ , Nialler?" I shakily ask as I reach for my eating utensils.

Knowing full well that Niall isn't exactly the nicest morning. . .well, afternoon person if he hasn't had his fix.

Fork in my left hand. Knife in my right. I sat up stiffly straight.

Almost uncomfortable if not for the rich buttery smell of pancakes seeping into my nostrils.

I'm not much of a fan of pancakes, but Niall's pancakes are simply heaven on earth.

No pun intended.

Niall abruptly stops chewing his portion of pancakes, placing his fork down. I too stop eating.

Slowly lifting my gaze, peering up at him through full lashes.

Blue meeting blue.

He's just sitting there.

Analyzing me.

A scowl present at his features.

"Why do you ask, Lou?" he snarls.

Slowly rising to his feet. Menacingly stalking towards my slumped form.

I don't like this Niall, who yells and batters me whenever I do something that upsets him, if he isn't under the influence of drugs.

I'd much rather the cheerful, loud, and cuddly Niall.

'But neither persona are the real him.' my thoughts remind. And, they're right. . . _partially_.

"Be-cause last night you— "

His hands felt like ice as they closed in a vise-like grip around my neck.

"Because?" he taunts.

The crazed look in his eyes terrified me as his grip became tighter and tighter. My breathing beginning to labour.

I instinctively fought back.

Weakly clawing at his arms.

Terrified of what was to come next.

"Niall! P-please!?" I cry.

Blunt nails digging into pliable skin but his grip, it's unyielding.

"Ni?" I croak.

Feeble lungs burning from lack of air. I reached for his hands and felt my nails once again connect with his flesh. 

"St-op!" I desperately plead as I began to see dark spots across my vision.

His blood dripped onto my face as I felt myself weaken.

 _Why_ _was_ _he_ _doing_ _this?_

 _What_ _had I_ _done?_

"Why are you always in my fucking business!" he spits. Lifting me from my spot on the stool and slamming my small exterior against the countertop.

"Niall, I'm only- "

It's here when I feel that familiar sting at my cheeck.

"You can't run my entire life, dammit." he roars.

"It’s **Mine**!" he raves. Louder than the oceans tides that burst their bounds.

My lungs began to burn from lack of air as I reach for Nialls face. Tears brimming at my eyes.

"I— _I_ just wanted to help." I whimper, brokenly. The joints of my back quivering with every intake of air I try to force into winded lungs.

"W-wanted to pro-tect you. Even if. . . even if it's from your-self."

Something changes in his eyes as his hands slowly began to release me. But, it's already to late.

"Lou!" he cries.

"Why are you always so fucking— why me!" he shouts. Voice filled with anguish.

"What did I ever do to have you in my life!?" he babbles, though incoherently.

"You were born." Are the words I wish to speak to this beautiful, lost child. But it's forbidden.

I'd be sentenced to Puriel (A/N: One of the ANGELS OF PUNISHMENT. Puriel means ' **the fire of God** '.) for perfidy.

"You deserve to be loved. And by the power vested in me, by God and man, you will receive it." I breathe. Though huffs drastically uneven.

I, myself, beginning to see dark spots flutter across my vision as I became more and more frantic.

"Louis!? Fuck, Lou! I— I'm so-rry!" His tears drip onto my face as I slowly drift off.

His embrace was terrifyingly warm.

Nialls long, _bony_ arms seemed very protective when wrapped around such a frail frame.

But, like the many times I've experienced these peculiar episodes of a very emotional and distraught Niall, I knew this persona wouldn't last for long.

All I could do was cling to the possible hope of him actually wanting me around in his life.

Rather than nowhere near it.

I wanted— no. . .- _craved_ his acceptance. Was that too much to ask for?

"Don't be, Ni. This isn't the real you." I mumble, pathetically.

"Don't cry, love. 'm here. I'll always be here!" I smile brokenly.

The feeling of darkness steadily creeping through my very being.

I just wish I could sleep and never wake up. I'm so tired.

Being here on earth isn't all fun and games as God has made it out to be.

I've been down here a total of seven times. My current child being the eighth.

But he's different from the others. He's so stubborn when it comes to accepting a helping hand.

' _Why_ _doesn't_   _he_ _want_ _my_ _aid?_ ' my thoughts begin to speak.

Offering help won't do much since he's not accepting it.

The best thing I can do is be there and listen to him.

I just don't know if I'm doing the best I can, when all I can do is listen.

I should be crowned and awarded, ' **God's** **worst** **angel**.'

'Pitiful isn't it.' The ever present voice in my head begins.

Reading off it's list of heart shattering words. But thankfully I don't take the opportunity to listen in on the words of abuse for long.

For somewhere;

In my morbid thoughts I hear someone mumbling over my semi-unconscious form. Voice soft and brittle.

"I'm so sorry, bear!"

They'd chant as if it were a serene song.

"I love you!"

I wish I could say those words of warmth back to whom ever this person maybe.

I— _I_ wish it were Niall telling me those three words, instead of this person.

Not to be mean or anything, but I really wanted to hear those words fall from Niall's lips.

He never lets me in. . .

Always showing interest in me and obviously trying hard to express his true feelings about an issue. Only to pull away and become quiet in frustration.

I just want to tell him that I love him and I'll never stop.

I will care about him until the day I die.

And even when this body decomposes and turns into that of ashes & dust, will I love you from this day forth and even forever more.

"Niall," I somehow manage to mutter without me even knowing what it was I'm trying to say.

Trapped in between shadows and light. I somehow murmur before all my senses faded away.

Until I was left with nothing but darkness.

"love al-ways."


	3. Hell is Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Hell is empty and all the devils are here.'  
> -William Shakespeare 
> 
> ..Time jump..  
> 8 hours after Louis passed out

* * *

 

 

My head pounded in time with my heart.

Blood rushing through my ears.

It was like I was submerged in a coccoon of pain. Where everything from outside was background noise.

My eyes strained against their sockets & all I wanted to do was fall back into oblivion and escape.

But I couldn't. Not yet, at least. My job wasn't yet finished here on earth.

Slowly my eyes flutter open. Darkness greets me in my wake.

I'm— _in my bed?_ Sweaty and gasping for air.

All I could remember was being choked and hit across the face.

**Hard!**

A sudden dizziness. I, myself slipping onto the ground. And everything after that was inky.

Niall must have brought me here after I passed out. Speaking of the lad I note the noiceless atmosphere.

The house relatively quiet.

No sound of a t.v., running water, or the Irish lad himself. 'He must be asleep.' I think to myself as I try to move.

Just getting out of bed was a difficult task in itself. Because as I attempt to sit up, a massive wave of dizziness overtakes my senses.

I wait for the room to stop spinning before kicking the covers off corpulent  legs.

Steadily standing on wobbly limbs, do I hobble inching bit by bit towards my bedrooms door.

Walking across the hall and knocking on Nialls room door.

"Um, Niall." I call weakly. Voice trembling _just_ a tad bit.

Afraid of the mullingar lad possibly lashing out at me again.

But, I need to know if he's ok & I want to apologize for being such a bother earlier today.

My prying behavior is what lead Niall to act so riotously towards me. I deserved such a punishment.

So hopefully next time, if and when I ever do find myself in a similar situation such as earlier, this would surely act as a reminder...don't be so inquisitive in other's affairs.

"Nialler?" I try, hoping the use of the nickname would lessen his anger _if_ it were still present.

I softly knock at the door again. Feeling a bit dispirited at him not letting me in.

My hand limply falls at my side as I rest my head against the oak door.

"NiNi— can I come in?" I desperately cry.

At this point, I'm beginning to worry less about the possibilities of him harming me as all I want is to see his face.

Be it a smile or sneer. I just want to assure he's ok.

I've been standing outside his door for at least ten minutes now.

Begging— _pleading_ for him to let me in. But to no avail. He instead, continues to ignore me.

Which is something that he wouldn't normally do.

He'd instead grab me by my— _wait. . ._ Somethings off!

In a panic I wouldn't give up on him that easily, pounding my fists against the door. Desperate for a reply.

"No. no. no. no. no!" I chant the noun, like if doing so would change the outcome of my fears.

"Niall!" I shriek. Thinking the worst of the _worst_.

He has to be in here. He just has to!

Jingling the door handle a bit I find. . . 'it's open!'

I smile a bit at the new discovery.

Inwardly cheering as I twist the knob. Briskly walking in to explore.

"Ni?" I call prowling around his room.

Checking underneath his duvet, bed, and walk in closet.

Glancing around I regard the cracked bathroom door.

An ominous light projecting from underneath the door frame.

"Oh no!" I whisper— _shout._ Rushing towards the door. Fearing yet another possible overdose.

I push open the wooden frame.

Expecting to find a motionless blond. But instead I find an empty bathroom and an opened window that stood slightly ajar. Allowing a crisp breeze to filter through the room.

The window and its peeling white paint perfectly framing the inky black night into which my child had escaped.

"Oh God, no!" I mutter to no one but my surroundings.

Dashing down the stairwell and sprinting out the front door in a sightless rush.

Barreling outside the doorway of the building in which we reside.

Blindly ignoring the white van that passes in front of me.

Not even paying the slightest bit of attention as I ran down the street in search of Niall.

 

*

 

I've checked every possible place he could have gone. But all this friends say they haven't seen nor heard from him all day.

I am currently walking through an area that even police are afraid to visit.

An area where if you do not belong there, you should not be. But I had to go.

For his sake, I had to go!

The stench was of musky, old beer.

Rottened flesh of dead roddents and there was a faint smell of something revolting that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Even in the daylight you would be scared. But at night you are almost looking for trouble if you stayed longer then 5 minutes.

I needed 10.

I was half way through when the first sign of trouble crosses my path.

I ignore it.

Instead choosing to continue on with my search. And let me tell you, what a bad move that was.

Next to a rundown dinner and across from the public park.

A few meters away from uninhabited apartment buildings, was a black 2016 Camaro that was parked near the sidewalk where the gate to the public park is.

The driver of the car rushing towards me with what appears to be a knife held tightly in his grasp. And in a flash, I was at his mercy.

He took out his phone and called a number that I don't know.

Beginning  to give out specific details of my appearance.

We were standing on the sidewalk where the buildings were. Facing the public park.

I peer through long lashes at my captor.

The features of this person who stopped me suggested that he was an foreigner.

His hair. . . raven black with shaven sides and his face was hard with a reddish tint.

He had deep-set, hazel eyes that brought out his natrual beauty and I couldn't help but gape.

Those thick- _dark_ , eyebrows which showed content, yet friendliness. All at the same time.

Full lips grimaced his features as he towered- _though_ _slightly_ , over my average size of about 169 cms in height.

I couldn't contain my admiration towards this individual.

My entire focus wholeheartedly zeroed in on this one person.

He was simply gorgeous!

And that— _admiring this strangers pulchritude,_ was my next mistake.

Literally counting the small hairs on this breathtakingly- _winsome_ mans eyelashes. When in fact, what I solemnly should have been doing was pay mind to my surroundings.

 

    

 

So of course, I did not pay any attention to the car pulling up just across the street from the two of us.

Which- _might_ _I_ _add_ , was the very same vehicle that passed in front of me as I ventured from our home (the white van).

This van arrived as this person was speaking on his cell and parked by the sidewalk of which we both stood.

Suddenly, I was being lifted off the ground.

Turning my head I saw two foreigner looking individual's each of whom were at least 187 cms tall or maybe more, seeming to be in their mid thirties.

As for the foreigner that held me captive, he was probably in his early twenties.

"Êtes ... vous êtes sûr patron voulait celui-ci pour le soir tenue?" the raven haired man speaks.

Addressing to one of the two criminals, nodding his head in my direction.

"Bien sûr, il est, vas te faire encule stupide! Nous avons littéralement des photographies, des vidéos, audio de la putain enfant et encore vous poser de telles questions denses garçon." the foreign ruffian with a goatee replies. Waving him off in a not so nice manner.

What in heavens name are they saying?

What language are they even speaking?

French or something?

Oh I should have paid more attention in my guardian angel courses.

Curse you brain for not paying attention to the important things!

"Um, excuse me sir," I murmur.

Hesitantly speaking to the the raven haired man that seemed just a bit older than my nineteen year old human form.

His head whipping my way as he looks to me with narrowed eyes.

"I— _I'm_ certainly in no position to speak. B-ut might I ask what I did wr-ong?" I question. Emitting tiny, barely inaudible whimpers.

'All I wanted to do was find my child and keep him safe!'

That's all I want is his safety.

They can do whatever they'd like to me really, just— _'Lord please keep Niall safe!'_ I beseech _._

Knowing my prayers would be answered.

"Listen kid. I'm sorry. Really, I am. But this is business." the raven haired man starts.

"Your friend owes us about 4.5 million dollars." the younger goon huffs. Eyes unreadable.

"He borrowed money from our group a few months back and he still hasn't paid up." And, _what?_

I would always provide Niall with money. So why would he take money from this group of people?

 _'What type of group are these guys in anyway?'_ I think to myself.

I mean, who'd loan such a large amount of profit to someone. And on top of that, expecting reimbursement within a few months.

That just doesn't happen!

Unless,

They're apart of the **"Make-A-Wish Foundation!"**

Like a group that helps kid's and families with- _oh,_ who am I kidding!

There's no way he'd do such a thing. Niall's so. . .  _Niall!_

"S— so you don't know where he is ei-either?" I stutter.

Just now noticing the other two thugs listening in on our conversation.

The raven haired man doesn't have to say a word as he silently stares into my eyes. Simply because, I've already gotten my answer.

No!

If they don't have him, where else could he possibly be at this time of night?

What role do I play in them finding Niall if I myself don't even know where he is!

"I still don't see how I somehow got into this mess." I pout at the dark skinned man, feeling lost on the subject at hand.

"You just are." he huffs with a roll of his eyes.

"But— "

I don't continue speaking when he deems me a look that just screams, 'be quiet and do as we say.'

"Just take my advice and quiet down, kid. Or else, things'll get really bad. Okay?" the foreigner states.

Face hard and voice firm. It's quite clear he's isn't joking about.

I nod.

Both in fear & understanding.

The two other men walking over to raven haired man and my frightened- _shrunken_ _in_ , form.

I don't very much appreciate their close promoxity.

"Hey kid, quit being so restless. We're just doing our job." Blondie smiles reassuringly as he positions himself directly in front of me.

His partner, goatee guy, standing just behind my quivering stature.

Harshly griping at my sides.

"Now we're going to give you a little something to help calm down, alright?" the blonde reassures with a slight accent.

Hand going into his pockets. Pulling out. . .  _a syringe!?_

Fear floods through my body like blood, when the goatee goon holds me in place.

Blondie placing the needle containing a clear, liquid substance to my throat.

It suddenly dawns on me that they're drugging me!

In a frenzy, I retaliate.

Releasing small— _barely audible,_ whimpers at the feeling of a sharp prick in my neck.

I was vulnerable.

Never have I felt more mortal. . .

I couldn't let them get me.

I had to flee from here.

I needed a plan of attack and I needed one fast!

So, as soon as blondie withdrew the needle embedded in my neck; I sprung into action.

Dull teeth slicing through blondies skin without resistance.

Penetrating deep into the flesh of his hand as they cut through the thin blood vessels. Permitting them to spill their precious liquid.

As the scarlet fluid flicked onto my tongue, I almost gag at the taste. But I pull through. Quickly extending my arm.

Elbowing the goon with the goatee in the stomach. Swinging at an alarming rate as it cushioned between his waist and ribcage.

The immediate impact leaving a sickening sight on my face as his legs appeared to crumble under the impact.

A sour taste remained in my mouth as a look of revenge placed itself in the raven haired lads eyes.

Although I knew what I did was wrong. Nothing could be done.

I had to get away!

The steady thump of my footsteps echoed in my ears and I felt a bead of sweat roll down my forehead.

The angry pitter-patter of the soles of my shoes hitting the concrete ground. Making dust fly up.

  

    

 

All I could see were trees and a old abandon building.

The world was shaking way too much for me to focus enough to keep my legs pumping.

I closed my eyes and squeezed them tight.

I heard the sound of a car door being shut and for a moment I wondered where they were going.

It hurt my head to think though, so I stopped. My thoughts and surroundings turning hazy.

They must have given me depressants.

Which make you slow, drowsy, and decrease brain activity.

Where as stimulants make you awake, jittery, and increase brain activity.

'Yay brain for remembering something useful!' my thoughts taunt.

But I ignore them, because I could see the building. It was right in my line of view.

I was there.

I was _almost_ there!

But, I didn't quite make it in time.

Even if I had, it wouldn't have changed the outcome of my situation. I am drugged after all.

My hands were held behind my back and I was being pushed forward.

I tried looking at the ground so I could walk. My entire body feeling way to heavy. I was going to pass out, again.

Little black dots swarmed my vision.

The corners of my sight slowly fading into black. I didn't even feel it when I hit the ground. Not even the pain of my knees scraping the floor noisily.

I needed to find Niall!

I wanted a hint. . . A sign that Niall was alright.

"Preso il piccolo figlio di una cagna. Un po 'di un combattente, lui è. I suoi proprietari hanno intenzione di una palla con questo."

Someone says from above me. Tears slowly slip from my eye sockets as I recognize this voice.

"Davvero pensava di poter sfuggire a noi che facilmente, eh?"

It's the Russian goatee guy. Which means— they're the one's who caught me. . .

I sobbed uncontrollably.

Hot, _salty_ tears were flooding my cheeks. Cascading down delicate features.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything! But all that came out were deep, gut-wrenching sobs that tore through my very being and convulsed my petite body.

"Aniello si cazzo, ti ha fatto piangere!"

The blond haired goon tried for sympathy but I can hear the laughter in his tone as he speaks.

This is all just a joke to them.

What type of beings are they!? I couldn't understand it.

"Hey, don't cry because of our doing, princess. Your new owner wouldn't like that." Blondie sing-songs.

Cradling his injuried hand. Smirking all the while as he and G.G. (goatee guy) lead me towards the waiting vehicle.

Owner?

What'd he mean by _owner?_

I'm a free human being. Well, kind of. But you get where I'm coming from.

"Please," I pleaded. Though it sounded muffled. Like the dull boom of distant, breaking waves.

"dont, let me go." I tried to say, but I myself couldn't even understand the words.

My hands were suddenly released and I was shoved to the ground.

The taste of dirt and grass on my tongue made me gag.

I tried to get up, but a foot kicked at my back. Stopping me from doing so.

I really am 'Gods worst angel'.

Can't even get my own job right without assistance.

And in the situation I'm in now, because the people who have captured me are human, father can not aid me.

No matter the circumstances. If a human is the cause of an angels suffering— _of_ _my_ _suffering_ , God can do nothing but sit at his throne and watch as I crumple apart.

Little by little.

Someone managed to bound my hands together behind my back.

The heavy foot still perched on my lower spine.

Any and all sound made me cringe away in the opposite direction. Afraid of what other things they could do to hurt me even more.

While in this position, I tried to think of why I was to be submitted into this situation.

I mean, was I wrong for trying to protect a child that didn't want protection in the first place? All I wanted to know was Niall's location and where they were taking me.

I heard a second pair of footsteps approaching and I froze.

'Scream', the tiny voice inside of my head whispered.

I tried to abide by it, but all that came out was a small croak. Much like a toad would when it wanted to mate.

I heard the two sets of bodies above me laughing.

How could they be so heartless?

I'm an innocent that somehow managed to, without even knowing, get into someone else's problems.

Though, the problem at hand being the one my child caused.

"too much drug," "overdose" and "kill, Niall!" where the only phrases I caught once I tuned back into reality, before the world began to tilt on it's axis.

They were talking in English. So, now I could make out whatever it was they were saying.

But I couldn't focus on the sounds long enough to give them any meaning.

I turned my head to the side.

Retching my insides out. The men stopping their chatter. I felt a foot turn me over on my stomach.

A bony hand then picking me up by the thin hairs on the nape of my neck.

I could feel the patches of hair being torn from my scalp. My neck bending at an obscene angle. I couldn't feel the pain. So I could not tell whether it hurt or not.

All I knew was I was being hauled once again by one of the goons.

My feet were dragging along the ground and one of my adidas fell off. The tips of my toes hitting the gravel, before I was harshly thrown into the van.

I felt woozy as I tried turning my head to the left. Only to find a shadowy figure standing about a foot away from my drugged out self. Was I being delusional?

How does Niall do this?!

The person stands just outside the van's doorway.

Watching me like I'm some injured prey.

Then, all too soon, he suddenly reaches out a hand. Trying to touch me.

At his gesture, I release a strangled sob.

Cowering into myself much like an armadillo when it feels threatened. Well at least trying to, what with the rope bitting at my wrists.

I didn't want whoever this was standing just outside to touch me. 'I couldn't handle it!'

They've done quite enough, already. So why couldn't they just leave me be?

"Va tutto bene, colomba. Stai bene. Shh- stai bene, sì?" They spoke quietly.

Waiting for me to calm down and possibly realize they mean me no harm. And didn't pose as a threat.

But I wouldn't fall for that. They're just trying to hurt me, again!

"Go! Go aw-ay," I mumble tiredly. The feeling of unconsciousness pulling me in.

" _please_ —, no more!" I cry.

Salty tears leaking from my eyes like broken faucets. I can't do this right now.

'Lord! Father, I— I can't. . . I . . . make them leave. Please! I— '

"Mi dispiace, piccola colomba. In verità io sono. Ma non ho altra scelta in questo ... ehm .. particolare uh ... la materia a portata di mano. Sto solo seguendo gli ordini. Ma vi do la mia parola, sarete al sicuro. Vi prometto che." the person mutters.

Speaking ever so quietly.

Their tone even more lower pitched in volume. I try to make sence of the strangers words, but I'm already drifting off.

"Solo— solo dormire un po ', va bene? So che non si capisce che cosa è che ti sto dicendo, ma tu devi dormire, bella. Vi sentirete molto meglio una volta che hai riposato gli occhi per qualche minuto."

The faceless voice sounds as if they were singing. Soothingly relaxing my mind and body as they quietly spoke, 

 

 

 

 

> **"Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me:**
> 
> **Bless Thy little child to-night**
> 
> **Through the darkness be Thou near me**
> 
> **Keep me safe til morning light."**

 

Black and colorless spots slowly begin to block my line of vision as I try to make out the shadowy figure.

But the door was already closing.

I felt drained but my mind was racing a mile in seconds.

Everything around me was like an endless chain of vivid scenery.

Seamlessly warping from one image to the next.

I saw things that were physically there. Moving around and warping into amazing yet alarming patterns.

Every crack and surface began to slowly ripple like tiny waves in the ocean, sea.

Moving as if all matter has come to life. Though not to the extent that you'll think the world is flat or reality is breaking apart.

No. . .

Just enough to let you know that the word 'firm' is more subjective than you'd think.

Nothing made sense and my thoughts were scattered about. All I knew was that I was falling.

Losing myself in the drugs effects. My consciousness ebbing away.

And my thoughts, as vivid and concise as they once were mere moments ago, were coming to an end.

My eyes grew heavy from the strenuous effects of whatever drug they injected into my system.

Brain activity losing all it's strength.

I had not prepared for such a mortal weakness.

Weaknesses such as the side effects of drug use and the numerous other narcotics.

I looked around the room, and noted the once lively colors now dimmed and dull. My vision extremely disorienting as everything slowly faded to grey.

My eyes flickering in and out of darkness due to exhaustion and the injected stimulant.

But even here, in these peculiar strangers van, where I was being held captive, locked away in such a small space, I could think of nothing but him.

His beautiful ocean like eyes. Like a pool of water, pulling you in and mesmerizing you. The almost, always scratchy laugh that'd fall from thin pink lips.

A sound that only on a good day you could hear such sweet, joyful laughter from a mile away.

It would echo throughout the halls and into each and every room in our house.

His laughter alone would cheer everyone up, by lighthearted chuckles. . .

It was Niall whom I thought of upon inhaling my last intake of air.

All until; there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't feel shy to leave either a kudos or comment; as doing so let's me know if your enjoying my fic or not; and can also help in providing me with constructive feedback!


	4. Men and Crows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKIP OVER THIS NOTE IF YOU'D LIKE, AS IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE FIC OTHER THAN IT’S UPLOADING SCHEDULE.
> 
> I'm setting up a schedule were I will be uploading every Sunday do to the fact that I work most days and Sunday's seem to be the only day I can actually have some time away from the dreaded humans.
> 
> AHA, ENJOY!

 

* * *

 

 

I groan, waking up with a ear splitting headache. Blindingly, bright lights shining all around.

But upon waking up, it felt as though I just might have closed my eyes for only a second.

I had no sense of time having passed. Though I could estimate that I've probably been unconscious for just a short period of time; however, less than a few hours perhaps?

At first I felt confused. . . I mean, I didn't even recall what had happened to me.

That was until the memories started coming back at an alarming rate that I recalled I'd fainted, do to the depressants those goons injected into my bloodstream.

I felt weak aswell. Though that wore off quite soon as my main feeling now was that of complete and utter fear.

Because upon lifting my head, baby blues swiftly meet the numerous amount of scary looking eyes, sat staring right back at me. Their gaze, unwavering.

 

      

 

There were intimidating bright lights, vivid and bold. Making me cower into myself; much like a turtle would with it's shell, when I made the conclusion that I was on some sort _of... stage_?

And there, right smack in the middle of it all was a well dressed, middle aged gent standing behind a podium. Microphone firmly in grasp. Addressing the massive crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please ready your paddles. For tonight we've a new toy in our hands." the announcer amuses. Causing many of said _'buyers'_ in the room to laugh along for whatever reason.

'What's so funny?' I wondered. Not quite catching the humorless joke.

Mainly because, something about the way he said that word sent anxious shivers running through my spine.

What exactly did he mean by _'toy'_? I don't have a price tag!

"Bring the first batch of toys to the stage." the older man speaks.

Voice intimidating and crude as it booms throughout the speakers located directly across the stages platform.

"Buyer's, get ready to place your bets. Your in for quite the night!" the announcer speaks somewhat eerily. But I pay no mind to his tone. My focus set on the many participants slowly rising to their feet.

The _'buyers'_ who were present to the number of about two hundred, clustering around the platform. While the _'toys',_ who might I add looked quite saddened, gathered into miserable groups in the background to watch the progress of a selling in which they were so sorrowfully interested in.

I on the other hand am quite confused as I thought we were going to be playing a friendly game like say, sherades or something of the sort.

I just simply couldn't fathom why they were so dispirited...

The buyers just wanted to have fun. You know, have a bit of a laugh! I mean, why else would they need us 'toys'— _a means of entertainment,_ if they weren't going to play with us?

I mean, not to sound ill-mannered or anything but that simply would not make even a lick of sense as to why our presence as toys would be required.

But as always, it was only a matter of time before I'd realized I was wrong. Oh so wrong; as I watched the buyers light fresh cigars and got ready their catalogues and pencils, whilst the first lot of toys were led upon the stages apron.

One would think they'd be lead by some scary— _monstrous_ bulk because of the rooms dark and ominous atmosphere but then again, you'd be wrong.

They were shepherd by a slightly built ginger. He, himself a _'toy',_ who seemed to regard the selling of the many others in his position (of which he so readily obliges to) as if this whole ordeal were a joke.

The ginger haired lad bows his head to the announcer, visually awaiting some type of acknowledgment or was it praise he was seeking?

See, I wasn't given enough time to conclude my thoughts because, quite unexpectedly, the peculiar lad in return received a rather harsh slap to the face.

Many individual's in the audience sat cracking up a storm at the sickening sound of skin colliding with skin. The noise echoing throughout the spacious room.

I and the multiplicity of toys standing beside me however didn't view this act as neither hilarious nor acceptable.

No one, not even a _'toy',_ as they call us, should be subjected in such a demeaning manner. Even if many would agree that said individual deserved such a punishment. No one should be exposed to such cruel and degrading treatment.

"Fucking wipe that smirk off your face boy," the announcer hisses.

Fingers locked around the gingers neck. Whether he knows it or not (which I'm almost certain he does) the announcers words flow through the mic.

The buyer's in the crowd watching attentively with amused smiles. "now— stand aside. We don't need you tarnishing my appearance much longer. _Correct_?" the much older gent questions. Muscular fingers flexing over the scrawny boys throat.

The ginger nervously gulping in the only word I could concur as fear. Quickly nodding his head up and down. Mouthing a small "yes" as he takes a hurried step back once the announcer begins to unloosen his vise-like grip. But only just a bit.

"Yes what, Oli?" he snarls. Taking a brisk step towards the shaken up ginger. Completely crowding the shorter boys space.

"Yes Master, Andrew!" Oli whisper— _yells_.

Voice low and panicked as master raises his arm. Oli hurriedly cowering away from the sudden act, but doesn't get far. For Andrew grabs at his wrists, pulling him near.

Once again Andrew raises that hand. Face strong and void of emotion...

Palm moving at lightning speed as he taps at the boys cheeck once— _twice,_ before speaking. "Run along," Andrew snarls shooing Oli away.

"Your punishment for disrupting my auction will be dealt with after I'm finished here." Master Andrew purposely speaks into the mic.

Publicly humiliating the ginger haired lad and discreetly watching as Oli practically runs behind one of the two large stage curtains. Hidden from all prying eyes.

Master Andrew makes sure the orange haired lad is completely out of sight before he addresses his audience. A tight lipped smile set at his features as he speaks. Tone dry.

"Sorry about that mess of a boy." Andrew fakes sadness.

"I'll have to train him more... _properly_." The announcer speaks out in a tone I can't quite decipher in time before he's moving on with the auction.

"First to go we have, Eric Joseph Patterson. Age: 17, weight: 116, height: 5'9. Not much to say really." Master Andrew huffs in obvious distaste.

"He's a runaway we found selling his body for a quick buck." Andrew bemusedly chuckles. Shaking his head at the audience with a hopeless look, then continuing.

"So to those interested in buying, you'd be glad to know he is no virgin," the announcer stood smirking.

Greedily watching as a few potential buyers thrust their paddles up shouting crazy price values at random.

Which led Andrew to quickly add-on, "and to you who want an inexperienced... _well,_ your in luck! For we have with us today an limited amount of play things you'll all no doubt be pleased to obtain."

It went on like this. Individual after individual. Toy by toy, they were all sold to the highest bidder.

The expression on the faces of all who stepped on the block were always the same, and told of more anguish than it is in the power of words to express.

There were times were I'd use the power of brain imagery to look into their thoughts and memories. Only for my heart to quiver at what hardships I'd seen...

Broken homes, crushed dreams, and shattered hearts were the sad stories to be perused in all the anxious faces.

I could do nothing more than pray for their lives as they disappeared behind two very large sets of blood red curtains located at the very back of the stage, for inspection.

Those of all who've ventured back there where never to have be seen again...

Some of us _toys_ regarded the sale with perfect indifference. Never making a move to turn from one side to the other at the word of the dapper, Master Andrew.

The crowd would have a fair view of their proportions. And then, when the sale was accomplished, stepping down from the block without caring to cast even a look at the buyer, who now held all their happiness in undeserving hands.

While others strained their eyes with eager glances from one buyer to another as the bidding went on. Trying with earnest attention to follow the rapid voice of the auctioneer.

The whole ordeal was quite saddening really. These people have all had enough hardships in their lives. Some worse than others but still this. . .this ' _auction_ ' was wrong. Oh so wrong.

No one should be sold like cattle. These people have human rights for goodness sake!

Sometimes, two people would be bidding for the same toy. All the others having resigned from the contest. Appearing quite bored.

On the list to be sold next was a blond haired bloke by the name of Luke Hemmings.

His eyes sparkled like storm clouds right before lightning hit. Clouds of grey and blue threatened floods and fury while the pupils dilated in passion.

His fluffy blond hair was like tendrils dancing on a sudden breeze. I could tell father took his time in creating such a breathtaking sight.

The more I watched the poor mortal on the block, the more it seemed likely he had developed an immediate liking to one of said buyers over the others.

He'd at times regard the rivalry with little interest, as not to draw any substitutions to himself.

The expression of the blonds face changing with every bid. Then settling into a half smile of delight when the more favorite buyer carried on unto the end and secured his new toy.

The blond now wearing a look of complete joy and happiness when the buyer won victoriously.

And then, all to soon— it was my turn to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. All I could do was pray.

Hoping for the best but expecting the worse. Waiting for the bomb to be dropped.

The life as I once knew would be snatched away by some cold, heartless person. Someone who will surely make the rest of my days here on earth even more challenging than the next.

That I know.

The ginger haired lad scampers over to my trembling form. Delicately taking ahold of my hand as he lures me towards the auctioneer.

"Ah, buyer's your in for a special treat. If you recall, earlier I spoke of a new toy." Master Andrew smirks as I draw nearer to his distrustful form.

Step by antagonizing slow step I drew nearer to the nerve-racking master until I was at least 5 centimeters away from the man that sent unsettling shivers down my very core.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Feast your eyes upon our new found beauty. Louis William Tomlinson. Age: 19, weight: 143 lbs, height: 5'6. Occupation: university student and part-time cafe bartista." Master speaks, reciting the words.

Voice filtering through the mic, whilst smouldering— grey eyes look not towards the crowd but myself. Cocking his head to the side, he continues.

"His hobbies include singing, song writing, football, and you didn't hear this from me; but I've caught wind that every Sunday he attends church service. Prays every night and day, and is an all around God worshipper." Andrew tuts. Grabbing at my frail wrist and pulling me into his lean and sturdy form.

"So, one could only imagine what that could possibly mean..." Andrew smirks. Positioning my back to his front, holding me at the waist as to keep me perfectly still.

He uses the same hand that once caged my flimsy wrist to fondle the parts that were too immoral for even I, myself, to touch.

'What is he doing?' I question myself as he caresses at my boy parts. The pads of his finger tips sending a violent wave of shock to course through my veins.

Any and all thoughts coming to an immediate standstill when I start to _feel... weird?_

I react immediately. Pushing away from the intrusive palm. Releasing choppy whines at the new feeling gradually growing in my tummy.

I felt— _dirty!_

His touch... Andrew's touch, made me feel extremely uncomfortable and nauseous.

I attempt to step out of his strong hold but he retaliates. Firmly pressing my back to his chest. Keeping such a forceful grip at my waist that it burned at the extremely delicate skin there.

_He's hurting me!_

Whimpers were tumbling out my mouth like Jack and Jill at the feel of Andrews meaty fingers being slipped into the waistband of my tight black briefs.

Palm plunging further— _deeper,_ until it was completely submerged inside of my underwear. His fingers, tugging at my member. Tampering with my innocence.

Short puffs of air and scratchy drawn out whines were being emitted from the stages speakers.

My crys seeming to cause the whole room to start a chores of many hooting and hollering. Chanting— _shouting,_ such confusing words my way.

Taunts like cherry, pristine, and fresh meat were being thrown around by such a substantial amount of buyers.

All holding up they're paddles and yelling such obscene words that I didn't even know the meaning to.

I couldn't contain the distressed cry that tumbled out of my mouth at the sight of so many mortals wanting to buy me. Wanting to take away my vestal.

Whatever this feeling I was experiencing, felt immoral and downright disgusting! And...and I can't! I - I don't wish to be here anymore. I don't like this. 'Father, please help me!'

"Judging by all the noise your making, I assume you've guessed it. That's right! Our little Lou here is a true flower." Andrew announces. Rubbing small circles at my lower back.

My posterior involuntarily arching at his touch. "Oh, but not just any flourished flower. This little one here is the purist of all toys we've ever had!" he declares, thoroughly enraptured by his own words.

"And if you lot don't stake your claim now, _well,_ I'd be more than glad to fuck our little Lou here into the devil's play pen." he speaks, voice going a bit raspy towards the end.

I cringe away from him at the mention of that name. Of his name...the Devil. _Satan!_

Satan was made by God. Way before I was even thought of. He was the most beautiful, most powerful, creature that God has ever created.

Luci was an angel who, out of jealousy, wanted more power than God.

Originally Satan was God's highest ranked angel, named Lucifer. Lucifer rebelled against God and tried to overthrow him.

He was second to our Lord. But, in the wars before man was created he tried to take over heaven and was defeated and cast out.

God kicked him out of heaven and into hell. Lucifer took a third of Gods angels with him and made them his own demons.

And now, Satan desires to have me. He wishes to capture me and turn me into one of his arch angels. He's willing to take any means necessary to snatch me away from our father, God.

Lucifer has come quite close many a times. But God's always there to help me in times of need. As I am his most favorite Angel. Or, so I've been told...

"Especially with an arse like this." a ragged voice breathes into my ear. Snapping me out of my frightening thoughts and back into reality.

This sick- _twisted,_ reality!

I'm guessing Master Andrew's voice was meant to be that of a whisper. Only for me to of heard but it instead renaissance through the speakers.

My body going rigid at such foul language but not for long as the feel of brutish hands slowly trailing down to my lower back erupts, releasing immense shivers.

Andrew cupping my left bum cheeck with a firm hand. Copping a not so brief feel on such a soft, ample, bum.

Pushing my hips into something hard and a bit, _small?_ Sinfully grinding into my shorter form. Compelety forgetting about the auction that is currently being taken place.

The buyers not seeming to mind the scene that has chosen to have taken place. Thoroughly enjoying Louis' desperate mewls for help. Probably picturing themselves in such a tempting position.

All seeming to be quite contempt in watching the tiny teen struggle to get out of auctioneer Andrews grasp as the much older man hikes up one of Louis' thick- _succulent,_ thighs.

Slamming his frightened blue eyed form onto the wooden stand. Legs forcibly, _widely_ parted as Master Andrew begins his cruel attack.

Mercilessly dry humping Louis against the podium. Andrew, completely losing himself in the younger boys delicious curves and soft appetizing body.

His nut already drawing near as he uses excessive force in pinning Lou's palms above his feathery brown head. And all Andrew'd done was rock his clothed cock into Louis' own.

Louis himself having not even gotten erect, nor did he feel anything other than the warm, putrid feeling of bile steadily climbing up his throat. He's close.

Andrew's so close and not even 2 minutes have gone by and he's already feeling the growing pressure in his lower regions.

And that's only because the idea of 'terminating this auction and fucking this boy into oblivion in his red room- S&M dungeon, until he's begging for daddies hot load to be shot down his throat', is about the only thing currently running through his thought process.

One could only imagine how good it'd feel to be balls deep inside of such a sinful body.

Andrew didn't show any signs of stopping anytime soon. However, he had no other choice but to halt all sexual advances when ginger lad, Oli comes up beside the sex hungry, horn-dog of a master.

Oli immediately placing a very delicate yet firm hand on his master's shoulder. Trying to snap Andrew out of his sex driven craze of whipping out his cock, lowering Louis' trousers, and pounding away into the much smaller male.

But Andrew stops, though reluctantly. Taking a bit of time to sort himself out and place Louis a couple of inches away from himself.

Glancing at such a precious flower, Andrew realises just how much he didn't want to sell Louis all of a sudden. Especially not when he'd only just gotten a small sample of the bodacious, blue eyed beauty.

See, Andrew wanted to make Louis his new sub.

He believed that he along with his current sub, Oli, would give him the most pleasurable sex he'd ever experienced.

The dom even had their first scene planned out... he'd start off by eating Louis out while Oli gets sucked off by their little brown haired beauty.

Then when Louis' loose enough he and Oli would slowly ease their sweet, innocent little flower into double penetration. Repeatedly impailing both their rods into the fairy-like lad.

Stabbing him from the inside out. Both just wrecking his tight, rose bud, like hole until Louis' so sore he wouldn't be able to stand for a whole two months.

But Andrew isn't dumb.

No, not in the least. Andrew knew he could no doubt acquire millions... no _billions_ of quid on this one boy alone. That's way more than any of his previous toys bidings could ever obtain!

He knows he could make a ton of profit off of the god-like creature standing just mere centimeters off to his right. That he's well aware of.

Taking a deep breath, Andrew speaks, "Well, aha... it seems as I've dirtied myself up quite a bit." he chuckles to himself. Though the act itself didn't seem at all genuine.

"But I assure you it was for a good cause. I was just... giving out our latest product a test run. So no harm done, yeah?"

The audience of potential buyers begin a rather brief show of chortling behind their hands. Laughing as if Andrew didn't just dry hump a timid, blameless Louis in front of a room full of onlookers and possible buyers.

Once the buyers have settled down Andrew carries on with his praises.

"And did you hear such delicious sounds emitted from such temptation?" he all but groans as the crowd begins to grow noisily.

A very distinct, low growl could be heard somewhere in the crowd from what I knew was no doubt one of my (soon to be) potential buyers.

And, as faith would have it; it would seem no one but me appeared to have caught. Let alone acknowledge such a frightening sound.

"Soft aswell."

"Buyer's, (men especially) I applaud you if you do not end up fucking this prestigious flower against every surface once he's in your possession." Master Andrew grunts. Subtly adjusting that small tent in his trousers. What is that!

Is it a lump or something?

Whatever it is, I pray it isn't life threatening. Hopefully when Andrew gets back to his home Oli could maybe help his 'master' rub cream or some special oils on it.

God forbid anything bad happening to the poor human. I'm quite sure any possible injury from said master would cause Oli great despair.

"Personally I wouldn't be able to fully leave the auction house without deflowering him."

And, _deflowering!?_ Okay, so maybe I spoke to soon but still... I do pray whatever illness he has will diminish and in time leave his temple. Whenever that may be...

"Now let's continue on with the auctioning, now shall we?" Andrew tuts. Revamping his composure one last time before officially speaking.

"For this particular toy, the bidding price will begin at 35 million dollars."

As he uttered the outrageous number, not even a millisecond soon the room erupts with shouts from the crowd buzzed with anticipation and excitement.

"50 million."

"60!"

"65 million!"

"It amazes me how inexpensive you crowd seem think our little Lou here is," Master Andrew frowns at the many faces present in the crowd. Inwardly judging his audience.

"Don't you think this flower should be price ranged as more then a few, mere couple million quids?"

"89 million."

"89 mill... eh. That's a reach." Master Andrew smirks. Cocking his brows as he addresses the salt-and-pepper haired dominate. "But I think you should aim higher. I'd say this toys more expensive than that. Wouldn't you all agree?"

"96 million!"

"1 billion."

"Ah! I heard a price of 1 billion quid. The bid is now at the price range of 1 billion. Is there anyone else who'd like to bid higher for such an exquisite toy?" Andrew raises the volume in his timbre a few octaves. His tone a bit clipped and more business-like than before.

"5.4 billion!"

"Hmm. Is there anyone else who'd wish to bid at an even higher price?"

"10 bil-"

"69 billion dollars."

All chatter comes to a complete and instantaneous deadlock as soon as the mysterious buyer spoke of such an outrageous price.

The peculiar buyer stands. Rising to his feet. Slowly stalking towards the stages apron.

He spoke with clarity as he sashayed passed the many seats of intrusive spectators. Steadily approaching the stages front. His voice a mixture of both darkness and light.

The words that spilled from his mouth were like acid rain as he glared from Master Andrew to my frightened, huddled in form.

There was a glint of what I could only assume to be dimness- _devilry_ in his eyes as he enunciated just two simple words that caused my mere mortal heart to skip a beat or two. . .-

"In cash."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnyway, hope you've all been enjoying this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thanks loads to all that have taken the time of day to even read this story and with that being said, I'll see you lot Sunday!<3
> 
> Annnd HAPPY NEW YEARS !!!


	5. Assistant of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Brief Recap*
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "69 billion dollars."
> 
> All chatter comes to a complete and instantaneous deadlock as soon as the mysterious buyer spoke of such an outrageous price.
> 
> The peculiar buyer stands. Rising to his feet. Slowly stalking towards the stages apron.
> 
> He spoke with clarity as he sashayed passed the many seats of intrusive spectators. Steadily approaching the stages front. His voice a mixture of both darkness and light. 
> 
> The words that spilled from his mouth were like acid rain as he glared from Master Andrew to my frightened, huddled in form.
> 
> There was a glint of what I could only assume to be dimness- devilry in his eyes as he enunciated just two simple words that caused my mere mortal heart to skip a beat or two...
> 
> "In cash."

* * *

 

  ~~ ***Continued*** ~~

 

"And just might whom you be, fine sir?" Andrew spoke through clenched teeth.

Briefly allowing only a tight-lipped, modest smile to grace his lips as he kept his eyes trained, front and center.

"Doesn't matter." the mystery buyer blanks. Simply wanting to aquire his prize and quickly escape the room full of insufferable, prestigious bidders to get back to work.

"End the bid and quit stalling, dipshit. I don't have time for games." He didn't have time for things like unnecessary introductions. Especially with this snake, Austin.

"There's no need to be crude, sir." Master Andrew opts for politeness.

Quickly taking on the lead role as Mr. Nice guy. "And for future reference, the  name's Andrew. Andrew Jones."

"Whatever Allen." The newcomer huffs in annoyance. Already not liking the slimy vibes this _"Alexander Jonas'"_ aura was producing.

Just looking at the guys face made the stranger want to retch his insides out whilst a pigeon eats seeds out of his arse.

"Are we gonna end this shit or am I gonna to have to take my bid by force." the mysterious stranger all but huffs.

Master's face was then contorted into that of fury at his uncivil tone. He was as angry as a bull.

His cheeks flushed and his stormy- _grey_ eyes sparkled with ferocity as he grits out the ever famous line of, "I'll have you know- " before getting interjected.

"Oh please." the mystery man interrupts Andrew's sentence. Effectively cutting him off as he begins to rant.

"Save the whole 'oh, I'll have you know' bullshit for later. Because I'll have _you_ know my boss would end this sleazy little career you've got going on here, with just a snap of his fingers."

"Is that so?" Andrew chuckles into the mic. His laughter inducing the rather large audience to laugh along. And oh my;. . .I've completely forgotten that we weren't the only three individuals present in this room.

"And just might whom your boss be, _hmm?"_ master forces out. Causing his laughter accompanied with words jumble as if they were bubbling... much like a gushing stream.

The act of course angering the buyer. But as it would seem, he knows of a way to turn those baleful smiles upside down. So he speaks, voice cold and morbid.

"Listen, pal. All you need to know is that I am the head butler of the notorious Styles manor." Mystery man smirks an senile smile when all hysterics comes to an immediate end, ergo boosting his ego.

"And lets just say my Mr. Styles wouldn't be all to joyous knowing that you, Mr. Anderson, are subjecting his childhood friend of whom he hasn't seen in almost 10 years, to this room full of disdainful halfwits." the stranger vociferates quite loudly whilst he smiles a malicious grin.

Delighted to see that he brought such an incredible look of fear to emerge on such a dense face.

"S-styles!" Andrew nearly shouts. Eyes agape like saucers.

Frozen like a deer caught in headlights because, 'surely they were talking about two very different people; because, well there had to be another "Styles" residence of this city somewhere... there just had to!'

Andrew was a mess. A stuttering mess he was.

Fumbling over almost every word in his sentence as he spoke. "This err... this wouldn't uh happen to be the _Harry Styles,_ um would it?"

'Harry Styles?' I question myself. Racking my brain for any clues as to whom this Mr. Styles person may be. But alas I find nothing.

Who is he and why does just the mention of his name alone frighten so many. I wonder... just who is this, Harry Styles?

Harry Edward Styles (born 1st of February 1994), also known as **"Dapper Don"** or **"Baby Face",** is a gangster involved in organized crime including extortion, narcotics, and drug trafficking in Glasgow, Scotland and the City of Leeds.

Harry's one of the wealthiest businessmen in Glasgow. And he doesn't even reside there. No, Mr. Styles resides in an prodigious mansion right off the countryside of England.

He owns numerous businesses. Including security companies and tax firms, as well as properties throughout Scotland and Ireland with an estimated worth of £10 million.

His drug trafficking activities were worth an estimated £14 million GBP (which equals around $20 million USD.)

His mob **"The Mad Hatter's"** ran your normal assortment of gangster enterprises. Aka gambling, prostitution, and extortion.

Initiates (since the beginning) are still, even to this day 6 years later, eager to join the superior gang.

But to get in, one must first swear a total of 36 oaths and drink the blood of a decapitated chicken mixed with their own.

And as it goes with most criminal organizations, the Mad Hatter's were a pretty homogeneous bunch... well all except for Harry Styles, whom of which is the actual definition of the adjective, **mad**.

Baby Face is only but one of the UK's 10 most wanted fugitives.

As head of the London ( _European based_ ) UK empire known as the Outfit, Harry is guilty of any number of sins. All ranging from gambling and prostitution to bootlegging and narcotics trafficking to robbery, bribery, and murder.

He's ranked 3rd in the mafia administration.

His record is long, but being as brainy and crafty as he is means Harry never stays incarcerated for no more than 24 hours or less... for years it seemed as if law enforcement couldn't touch him.

"The one and only." mystery man simpers. Looking quite pleased with himself, if you ask me.

"Then being as you are the head butler of his estate, that'd make you- " the announcer begins but gets cut off by the intriguing individual.

"His associate." the stranger deadpans. Crossing his big, muscular, tattoo covered arms over his chest and in turn smirking. The alluring yet mystifying buyer speaks.

His words attempting to sound not at all of importance. But I couldn't help but catch that haughty personality as he moved his lips. "To which you'd be wrong. I'm just the head butler. Nothing more, nothing less."

And there it is. The acts of superiority and the looking down of others.

Instantly my mind drifts to Luke 18:11-12.

Pastor Paul Wagner's voice filtering through my mind, though unwillingly. He'd preach to the church about the ascendancy of good over evil. Pastor Wagner would utter one of my most memorable verses,

 

 

>  ' The Pharisee glories in what he is ("I am not like other men"), what he does ("I fast twice a week"), and what he gives ("I give tithes of all that I possess").
> 
> See, self is a prominent feature of his prayer- he uses the personal pronoun "I" five times- showing his great obsession with himself. He does not pray for others, and frankly, he has no interest in them other than to point out their faults.
> 
> Not satisfied with commending himself, he disdains the tax collector as well, when he should have interceded for him before God. His prayers shows that he thinks of God as being impressed with pettiness and severity.
> 
> It's important not to be selfish because we all have a societal obligation beyond ourselves. '

 

Meaning, if we all just took everything for ourselves, what would the world be?

If we all lived a life of materialism and greed, it would have so many consequences.

What if we all wanted log houses? All of the forests would be gone.

What if we just horded all of our money to ourselves and never shared? People in Chad, Yemen, Sudan, Africa would still be starving and struggling while we sit around buying the next cool piece of clothing or what have you...

Service that day was by far one of my favorite top five church going recollections. Mrs. Preston had given me a peppermint that time whilst the choir sang their sacred liturgy.

Oh, happy days, that was!

"Now come on, Adrain. I should've been back at the manor 15 minutes ago." oh my... these two still going at it?

I thought my faith had already been decided as soon as my mystery man approached the stages apron. Hmm, guess not.

Oh well. More stalling is what I need right now. Because as much as I detest the thought of staying at this place, I'd rather be here on the chopping block of this exquisite yet dingy looking room than in this mystery man's clutches.

It's unsettling, really.

Like, I don't know how to explain these feelings I have but theres something deep within myself telling me to stay far away from this mortal...- yet that same something is begging, _pleading_ for me to keep this man close to my heart.

To never neglect nor betray him. To protect him whenever he's feeling dispirited.

I know he isn't my child. Niall Horan takes the crown in that particular category. But still, I can't help these feelings I have for him.

I want to make this man know the meaning of being loved and cared for. I...

I don't know.

He just... he just seems so. . . _lonely._

"Come on Anthony mate. We don't want to make mean ol 3rd ranked, mafia boss, Harry Edward Styles angry, now do we?" the stranger mocks sympathy as Master struggles to let out a sentence.

"I-I-"

"The next words you utter better be along the lines of you ending this bid. I mean you don't have the right to justify yourself...let us recall the fact of you having a bit of a feel on my bosses boy." mystery man taunts, mercilessly.

"Don't you think he'd be just a little... oh I don't know, upset maybe? Heck, maybe if your lucky-"

"Fine!" Andrew just about roars. "I get it." he snarled. "Your bid will be awaiting you behind the curtain after inspections. All-"

"No need."the stranger counters with an immediate shake of his head. "He's good."

"Oh, but I must insist-" Andrew doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence for he is cut off.

"If this inspection is such a big deal then Harry'll get to that when-" like Andrew my stranger gets intercepted by the persistent auctioneer.

"Mr. Styles is no proper examiner." Master Andrew grunts, simply stating facts with a roll of his eyes. Which might I add is pretty rude in my opinion. I'll be sure to apologize to mystery man once we leave this place. "If you'd please wait 15 minutes. I'll-"

"Cut me off one more time and you'll have hell to pay." he threatens- no, promises. That was no doubt a promise.

I stood here on the platform. As still as a statue, I was. Like a monument frozen for eternity.

The fear I felt was immense in itself because it wasn't just in me. It was all around me. All because of that one word. Perdition, _Hell._

"I swear I don't get paid enough for this shit. You fu- Just give me the damn kid!" he said. Growling through clenched teeth, just on the verge of snapping and shouting.

"You know what, take him!" Master Andrew shrieks. Throwing his limbs out and raising them to the gods above.

Just from that act alone I could tell he was absolutely livid. But somehow he managed to control most of his rage as he spoke. "But you're going to regret not having me inspect him. He prob-"

"You're going to regret continuing this conversation with me if you don't shut the hell up, mate. This whole inspection bullshit is really-"

"I don't know why you just won't let me check him! It'd only take at most 15 minutes. It's-"

"I thought I told you not to interrupt me, Adrain." The butler sneers. Hands closed into fists as he leaned forward. Daring to be cut off again.

"I told you it's Andrew." Master barks. "Not Adrian!"

"Antonio, Angus, An- I don't give a fuck!" The Styles butler bites back. Getting fed up with this constant game of back and forth.

"My patience is wearing thin. Your really pushing it, pal." he acuses. The sudden act causing the buyer to take a step forward in complete and utter rage.

"What if I refuse to give him up, huh? What if I terminate this whole auction and keep him for myself?" Master lashes out. Breath shortening as he continues to speak his mind.

He didn't want to give this boy up to anyone. He wanted Louis, his beautiful little flower, all to himself. And no matter what words the buyer to try and convince him otherwise, he would not be swayed into letting his boy go. Louis was his and his alone.

"Just let me have the boy and no one gets _hurt,_ alright?" the buyer speaks, putting emphasizes on the word as he tries to "reason" with the oh so persistent auctioneer.

"You wouldn't want your boy, Oli was it, getting the death sentence, right." the buyer smirks as the look in Andrews face changes almost in an instant.

He knew it was over when the auctioneer stands even taller. Back muscles flexing and shoulders broadening as he tries to keep that last bit of sanity in check.

He can't take much of this anymore. His will to argue has long since diminished and Andrew knows now is the time to just let things go...for now that is.

He'll get what he craves in due time. All thats left to do now is end this bid so he can plan out just how he'd exact his revenge.

"I get it, okay? Please," huffs in defeat.

"Come up to the stage and collect your bid." Andrew speaks. His tone hard as he casts Louis a longing stare, the buyer a hateful glare and his audience a small glance before stalking away from all us onlookers.

Disappearing behind the large curtain, leaving me alone with my mysterious man.

"Fucking, finally!" the ominous buyer exclaimed, rather loudly if you ask me.

But as I acquired from the numerous encounters with a pie-eyed Niall... he'd (and I quote) exclaim to me, "you do not call someone out on their potty mouth, Lou. That's a sure way for your scrawny little a** to get f***** up in the real word... or in your case f***** fast and hard!" or whatever thats supposed to mean.

But you know... right here, at this very moment, I kind of get the feeling that I'll be learning and/ or experiencing the true meaning behind those words once my buyer has me at this Mr. Styles mercy.

I shudder at the thought, visualizing the worst. But quickly play off the jittery act by simply feigning being cold.

It should work seeing as I've seemed to somehow have lost my shirt on the way here. And as much as I'd like to be stood here pondering on my t-shirts unfathomable whereabouts, I couldn't exactly shake off the feeling of numerous irises blankly staring at me. One in particular standing out far more than the rest.

Standing on the platform, I looked across to see my stranger. Mysterious and dressed in black, looking directly at me.

It made me feel uneasy. I quickly looked down at my hands. A few seconds passed, it felt like an hour, I peered at him through thick lashes. But, he was gone.

"Mr. Tomlinson" a deep, disturbing voice spoke from behind me. I spun around in shock. Almost falling in the process but I somehow find my footing.

"Who. . .- who're you?" I question. Voice quaking but I try to remain calm in such a daunting presence.

"Hello. I'm Edward and I'll be your personal lackey for this evening." he replied.

Full, pink lips pulling into a bright and captivating smile. But his eyes; those eyes told a different story.

The look in his eyes were so lonesome...

The glint they had revealed a world of darkness. And even though he tried to hide it with a small smile, his eyes revealed it all. Those dark, colorless eyes that mourned his despair.

And though I did not know of whom exactly the culprit might be to have caused such a worrisome look to etch itself onto this enigmatic mans features, I knew it was but only a matter of time before I did. And from just that thought alone, I began to panic.

I could feel the sensation of my heart palpitating. Forcing ripples of it's throbbing blood directly to my temples. I stood, paralyzed and felt my once-agile legs crumple beneath me, and I collapsed.

I was disconsolate- _crestfallen._ And for the first time in my life, secluded from the rest of the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GIVE IT A SHIGGY BO KIGGY! <3


	6. Foreigner of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets his new toy. And well... let's just say, he isn't at all impressed by his new possession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick heads up; this chapter may be a bit under-edited, as my beta has been working at her job non-stop and wasn't able to review like usual, but corrections will be made in about 2 - 3 days. Give or take.
> 
> Anywho, here it is. An new update.
> 
> ENJOY! <3

 

* * *

 

    

 

    

 

As we pulled onto the red brick driveway, we were greeted by two very familiar faces.

Archangels to be exact, amidst an grand golden gate.

Just the sight of these two fearless and mighty warriors being present here, in this particular setting nonetheless, spoke of nothing but immense troubles to me.

One looked to be that of **Raphael** (A.N/Raphael: "It is God who heals", "God Heals", "God, Please Heal") who is an archangel of Judaism and Christianity.

An spirit who, in the Christian tradition, performs all manners of healing.

The other, **Michael**. ( A.N/: In the New Testament, Michael leads God's armies against Satan's forces in the Book of Revelation, where during the war in heaven he defeats Satan.)

But, that's not really what I payed attention to...

The fact that these two remarkable angels statues simply being present didn't bother me. No, not in the least.

What really got my full blown and honest attention was what was engraved underneath both statues platform.

I pray my eyes were deceiving me in their sightings, because I simply could not believe a person could- _would_ commit an act such as slandering these two lionhearted victors name's.

Beneath Raphael the Hebrew word פחדנים, ( **'coward'** ) was written in an bold, italic font. And under Michael the word לִבזוֹת ( **'blackguard'** ) was inscripted.

My blood ran cold because if I didn't already, now I knew by just those two words alone that whomever this Harry Styles person may be, is no good news. No good news at all.

 

 

The leather of the escalade cradled my thighs as we circled the bumpy brick road around to the main doors of this palace-like home.

A front door that could house a family of giraffes as I entered into the royal residence. Immediately greeted by a thousand stairs.

A foyer that could accommodate the presence of a Giant Sequoia tree stood at the foot of a vast curving staircase. Layered so tall that it'd probably skyrocket into my home. Heaven.

"Come right this way, Mr. Tomlinson." the ginger haired fellow speaks- _jokes._ I cringe at him addressing me by the use of my last name.

Deeply wanting to correct him but instead I keep my mouth shout, in fear of possibly angering him.

"Harry has asked me to show you around your new home." he then states. And okay, I know I said I wouldn't speak but what does he mean by new home.

This house isn't my home.

Earth is not home.

It is merely a temporary stay for beings like myself. Nothing more nor anything less.

"Um, thanks but no thanks." I stutter. Inwardly knowing I shouldn't be, but I'm nervous just speaking with him. His whole demeanor was frightening in my eyes.

"I think there's been some type of misinformant here. You see, I've already acquired a home." I state, though hesitantly.

Dimly was I weary of his critical yet understanding gaze as I recited my next few sentences. Blissfully unaware of scathing blue irises as I spoke.

"I live on 2th Woodbridge street. 've reside there for about two and a half years now, me and me...my um... _roommate_?" I say almost questionably because, goodness I almost gave my self away there!

"Oh yeah. And who is this roommate of yours?" the gingered hair butler questions. A small gleam in his eye.

I can only hope that by now he kind of likes me and won't drug me like those other men did. I don't think this body of mine could handle the over stimulation.

In this form I'd surely die if that were to happen again. Then I'd lose him... the very purpose of my existence.

"Niall." I solemnly mutter. Smiling brightly at the mention of the blue eyed beauties name as it leaves thin lips.

The intense feelings. I couldn't contain them.

Though he is quite troublesome, I simply couldn't hold any anger towards the boy.

I mean it's not like I could have any at all, seeing as feeling an immense emotion such as hatred towards another breaks any and all codes of the guardian angel handbook.

Besides he's just... he's just in a bad place right now. And by God's word, I'm going to be the rope to his anchor.

I'll be his symbol of hope. For him and him alone. Because he is my one and only, "Niall Horan." I whisper in a slight daze.

Edward shoots me a look I couldn't quite decipher in time. But I knew in his mind he had to be questioning the relationship Niall and I share, much like everyone else I seem to encounter whenever the fake blonds name is brought up in conversation.

"James?" Mr. Edward blanches. Growing pale from shock. "Niall James Horan!"

I nod enthusiastically. My smile broadening as his image filters through my mindset.

"Yes, that's him." I semi praise. Pearly whites on full display.

"And do you know exactly the type of things your friend does when your not around?" he beings to interrogate.

"The immense and countless troubles he, himself gets into?"

"Well, not entirely." I breathe.

Lowering my head I catch a glance of the carpeted flooring before getting enough courage to meet his gaze once again.

"I know he's done some bad things like smoking and drinking and... and... s-sex before marriage." I stutter.

Momentarily disgruntled with the word and it's meaning before continuing.

"But he's changing. Slowly but surely, he is."

"And how pritell do you know he's changing? How do you know he isn't at all acting? Playing you like a game of chess." he challengingly queries.

Daring me to answer his questions with a good reasoning as to why I would think such a thing. And well, it'd just so happen that I do have pretty good reason because,

"Well, I have faith." I quip. Much to Edwards annoyance.

"Faith?" he repeats.

Chuckling at the childish answer. Not even attempting to hide the slightly morbid grin that now graces his features.

"Yes, faith." I state matter-a-factly. Momentarily offended by the outrageous act of laughter but I carry on.

"Prayer is the verbal release of faith. An specific faith for a specific purpose. It's all based on a specific promise from God."

"And you actually believe that your God will uphold that promise to you and answer your meaningless prayer?" Edwards quick to deadpan.

From his tone I can immediately tell he's getting angry with the subject of religion.

And no matter how much I may wish to end our current conversation, I knew that he simply wouldn't just let it be. So with that being said, I continue to be outspoken.

"Yes." I say with not an ounce of hesitation. Because no, I don't believe God will uphold his word.

I _know_ he would.

"Yes, I do. I believe prayer requires more of the heart than the use of tongue."

"And why is that?" he snaps.

"Our prayers must mean something to us, if they are to mean anything to God." I preach back.

"Oh yeah. And what do you make of us who hornswoggle your almighty Lord and saviour by repenting?" Edward's eerily calm yet pleasant demeanor has since then diminished.

It's slowly changed as his face contorted in an all consuming anger. Fully equipped with nostrils flaring, eyes flashing and then closing into slits. His mouth quivering, _drooling..._

Slurring words that were at times unintelligible, spewing into space like a volcano releasing its pent up emotions into the night as he erupted.

"Us, who pray for God's forgiveness and then do the same thing we asked for mercy for!" he mocks in that superior tone of his.

That same tone he used on Mr. Andrew back at the auction house to be exact.

Personally... I believe he only uses that tone of voice quality whenever he wants to test or figure out an individual.

I do not know why I feel as such, nor do I know why he feels the need to test me like I'm some experiment mouse.

But what I do know is that as of now, from the very moment we locked eyes back in that building, I was going to be his first step into recovery. Whatever that might be...

And what better time to take that first stride of redemption than now?

"Well, repentance is a change of heart and mind that brings us closer to God. It includes the person in question turning away from sin and turning to God for forgiveness." I speak gently. Slowly did I utter my words.

"It is motivated by love for God and a sincere desire to obey **His** commandments." I say a bit more seriously.

"There's an old saying that my mom used to preach to me. It went, 'He who fails to pray does not cheat God. He cheats himself.' " I say, quoting her exact words.

Inwardly saddened by her non-presence, but I push through my disheartening thoughts and feelings, as at this moment I am trying to figure out just why this beautiful person standing right in front of me chooses to act out in such an contrary manner.

I have to get just but one point across to better understand him. And for he to get an better understanding of me if I want this to work out like how I imagine it will.

So; I say the first words my brain can think of, hoping that it'd get him to apprehend. And, end this discussion.

"Jesus Christ suffered the penalty of our sins so that we can repent."

"Fucking Christ!" Edward suddenly booms with hoarse laughter.

"Harry's gonna have a field day with you here." and okay; that was quite random.

"Um- can... can you not use his name in vain, ple-ase." I murmur out. Voice low in tone.

"Christ's name that is. It... it's not right to do that, Mr. Edward." I say a bit more firm-like as this is a very serious subject we're speaking of right now.

"Oh shit," he curses. "Sorry, Lou! Completely forgot about those angel like qualities you seem to posses."

I nod with a tight-lipped smile, as I thought he'd caught on to what I was but quickly realized I was mistaken. As he neither knew of who nor what I was.

"And just Ed's fine. No need to be so formal, kid." he speaks. Causing me to tune out of my ridicules thoughts.

"Oh... okay. Sorry, Mr. Edwa- I mean Ed...Sir...Edward...Mr. Ed...Sir?" I tremor out.

"Lou it's okay. Just calm down, yeah?" Edward tries to counsel but at this point I'm full-blown panicking at my racing thoughts and current atmosphere.

"I'm... I'm sorry. 'm just- scared." I say. Confessing my fears.

"Why?" he questions. I can't quite tell if he's pulling my leg or not but I state the many, many reasons as to why I feel how I feel.

Because all that has happened is simply too much for me to bear alone. I need someone to talk to and Edward just might be the someone I need. So without further adieu, I speak my thoughts.

"Well with all do respect Mr. Ed, sir I've lost my chi- best mate. Been stupefied by 3 strange men who drugged and kidnapped me." I start off.

"Auctioned off and sold to your Mr. Styles and am now being forced to stay in this place with people that only want to harm me when all I want to do is go home!" I all but shout. Tears stinging at my eyes, but somehow I manage to keep them at bay.

"Harry won't hurt you, Lou. At least... at least not without good reason." Edward speaks.

Blue eyes softening as he looks deep into my oceanic irises. With a small and caring smile he says to me, "Your important to him. Your special, Lou."

"You say that but as much as I want to, I really don't believe your word..."

"I- okay. Just...let's...let's get on with that house tour, yeah?" he says instead. Briskly changing the subject of the mysterious Mr. Styles.

"Maybe if you see more of the house that'll get you to change your mind about staying. Follow me, Lou. Your in for quite the tour." Mr. Ed chuckles whilst I scurry after him.

My short and stubby legs not being able to keep up with such long strides, hence his uncontrollable laughter.

I pout. Huffing out a small breath of air.

Mr. Ed either doesn't hear my exhale or he's simply ignoring me. But one thing I know for sure is that he's walking at such a fast pace on purpose. He knows I can't keep up, so why?

Does he not want me being so close to him? Or is it the fact that his boss told him to escort me around this enormous building weighing a toll on him.

I mean just a few hours ago he did mention the fact that he had to be back here awhile ago... maybe he has to cook or possibly even clean for his Mr. Styles. Oh dear. I don't want him to dislike me!

What if I annoy him?

What if I do something he doesn't like and-

"Are you coming Lou or are you just going to stand there and ponder?" a voice says, snapping me out of my thoughts. I didn't even know I'd stopped walking.

I huff. Arms crossing over my tiny chest at the sound of his infectious laughter. Pouting even more, I slowly trail behind the chuckling ginger as he begins the tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small and danity hedgehog suddenly encounters a savage, wild froggo!
> 
> ...New chapter next Sunday...
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed!


	7. Nightmare of Nature

* * *

 

          

 

          

 

     

 

From the moment I even set foot into this home, I could immediately declare this place was indeed beautiful.

It's chock-full of the most beautiful things.

Velvet drapes framed the windows. The lace inner curtains remaining drawn open. Allowing moonlight to enter while rendering the heart-stopping view over the neighborhood giving the house a sort of mystifying glow.

There were polished wood floors and a graceful banister that curved up toward a soaring second floor gallery.

Persian rugs that covered a blood red carpet...

Everything looked opulent from the gleaming wood floors covered in loving throw rugs to the sheer curtains billowing like mist on the wall of floor to ceiling windows that faced a slope and then the moons ominous light.

Next was the in home library. Something that I was extremely excited to venture into.

The furnishings were old but seemed to have a story to tell. So that told me they had to be antiques with what looked like hand carved workmanship.

Each area of the room melted into the beauty of the next with some delicate divan next to more heavy bookcases and fireplaces that mated with the walls that appeared to be actually untouched. Unlike the majority of the items I've viewed.

Overall I've already concluded that this is a massive house. The kind of home in which most kids would dream of growing up in. Secluded among trees on one of the UK's most exclusive streets.

It had turrets, gables, dormers, balconies, a screened-in front porch, a free-standing garage, a gazebo, a pool, formal garments... a millionaires dream.

The house, though alluring and exquisite, it's atmosphere seemed dull and shut out.

Edward walks behind me. Placing a large but gentle hand on my shoulder.

The small but caring gesture does nothing to calm my anxiety as I flinch at his touch and close proximity, but I do not step way.

This is only because Edward reminds me of a fuzzy teddy bear. Kind of like the teddy I had when I was a baby cupid...

My bear's name was Mr. Fluffles.

He was orange and had a blue bib attached at it's chest.

If I remember correctly there were bananas on the bib. And he squeaked every time you'd squeeze him.

I smile a little at the bittersweet longing for Mr. Fluffles. My best friend.

I miss him.

He'd always be there to comfort me whenever I felt... not so happy. And right, now I'm not feeling so smiley.

I don't want to be here anymore.

I...I want to be free...

To go back to my friends. Back to my family.

I wanna go back to heaven and never return to this world, unless absolutely necessary. I know Niall needs me but,

"I want to go home." I murmur into thin air without even realizing.

Trying ever so desperately to hold back unrelenting tears as I sniffled.

"I'm sorry kid, but your going to be staying here for awhile." Edward tries to console. But I...I just can't hear that right now. I cant. I can't just stay here!

I stumble a bit. Legs beginning to give out.

My hands attempt to clasp onto something for support, anything really. A table or the back of a chair, but I find nothing as my very being begins to shake.

The sobs I gave vent to were stifled at first as I attempted to hide my grief; but are now... in this very instant only to be overcome by an intense wave of emotions; all ranging from sad & lonesomeness to depression and complete disbelief.

Once the first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream.

I bent forward where I sat on the floor. Pressing my palms to the mat. I began to cry with tears streaming down my face like raindrops on a windowpane. And then, I was sent lurching forward.

Vomiting on all fours.

My heart now racing.

It's that terrible, full-body sort of beat that makes your whole soul case shake and occasionally flutters from time to time from over-stimulation.

'Probably from that drugs affect', my thoughts speak. Trying to console my jittery self.

The voices telling me, "just calm down and everything will get better." well spoiler alert, it doesn't get better!

Well... not always.

Especially if you don't know what you're dealing with on a mental and emotional level.

My thoughts were scattered. Like leaves on an autumn ground, they were.

For a second, I almost mistook this feeling for excitement. Until the belly flips started up again. Followed by my face heating up and my neck beginning to hurt, that I begin to feel a little dizzy.

My breathing now heavy; and my palms and scalp starting to sweat for reasons unbeknownst to me.

If this were 9-year-old Louis dealing with these feelings, he'd of known, either a.) I was simply surprised by such a strange turn of events (and man does Louis not like surprises. This world is unpredictable enough. And he's constantly getting caught off guard enough as it is. Louis' also an introvert and can't stand too much attention. He likes to know what's around the corner. Likes to be prepared), or b.) I was having an anxiety attack. And yeah, 9-year-old Louis would have guessed answer number two, that's for sure.

"Shit, Lou!" Mr. Edward screeches.

"You alright kid?" he panics.

Gently lifting me from the ground. Quick to assess my health.

When he sees that I'm a bit more steady on my feet, he calms down...if only just a bit.

Groaning he speaks as a woman decked out in a black dress and with apron comes, bounding down the hallway to clean up the disgusting mess I've made.

"Jeez, Lou! Harry's gonna lose his shit when he-"

"See's the mess the little shit made." a new voice speaks. Effectively cutting Edward off.

"Well congrats dumb arse, I've already been made aware. Witnessed it, actually."

"Sir." Edward begins, taking a few steps towards the new person and bowing. But not before rapping at my left side. I would assume the act itself was some sort of mores-code, signaling for me to do the same.

I advance with my hands crossed over my chest. Making a quick, short curtsy and then standing mute.

Looking appealingly at this spine-chilling man's face as he addresses his butler. Face vacant of all emotions as he speaks.

"Edward, you are dismissed."

"Sir... Harry. Please don't-"

"I said you're dismissed Edward."

"But Harry, he's-" Mr. Edward tries to get out; but is stopped once again.

"Did you not catch the words the first time I spoke them or do you wish for me to repeat such an simple order?" the new face, now identified as ''Harry'' questions rather darkly.

"Fucking. Leave. NOW!" he snarls. Left hand quivering in rage.

"Yes, master Styles." Edward incoherently mumbles. Tone rather clipped as he quickly stalks away. Leaving me scared, alone, and defenseless against this person.

'So this is his Mr. Styles', I think to myself. Eyes trailing along the more dominant males features. Marveling at his facial structure.

His cheeks are chiseled like a finely-carved Michelangelo statue and nose perfectly symmetrical.

His lips are slightly full. They look to be the kind that end in a cute little smirk at the corners if he ever were to ever smile.

Rays of the moon highlighting the dimples in his cheeks and chin.

Narrow green eyes brought out his natural beauty, and I couldn't help but stare.

His thick dark eyebrows showed content but friendliness at the same time. That same friendliness that he wouldn't be giving me anytime soon.

The man across the room stared at me. That's it. Just...stared.

Nothing was happening, yet I could feel my pulse beating in my ears.

Blocking out all other sounds except the breath that was raggedly moving in and out of my mouth at irregular, gasping intervals when I sooner rather than later found that he wasn't going to relent.

What is he, assessing me?

I could not take my eyes away from the other's across the room as at this very moment in time nothing else mattered.

It was like the connection had to be held, because once broken... _if_ broken he would strike.

I'd never felt so certain of anything else in my life.

If I were to so much as glance away for even a second he'd no doubt hurt me.

I could no longer control my hands.

They were shaking in an odd trembling rhythm as the colour drained from my face.

Yet still, I stared.

Willing myself not to run. Willing the connection to hold.

Just being in his presence made me tremble in fear.

It was as if I could not move and trust me I dare not move. But what I did do was wish he would soon leave.

I knew just from sight alone, he was an individual that would not play by anyone's rules but his own.

This meaning no matter how much I wished- _prayed_ he would not leave me be.

My eyes shift and I go to speak... but am instead cut off. The new individual speaking first.

"You haven't even been here for 15 minutes and you've already gotten my house maids to clean your mess."

I wish to say some words of apology, but I dare not utter even a breath.

Something about the male stood a few mere meters in front of me spoke volumes of testosterone and control.

"You brainless, pathetic idiot!" he snaps. Practically foaming at the mouth.

"Speak to me when I am addressing you boy, or else!" he rages.

I was backed up against a brick wall with nowhere to run as my new "owner" continued to belittle me.

I could do nothing but listen to and nod at his harsh words.

He spat foul names at my face. Some I didn't know the meaning to but could feel their lewd meanings by how he'd proclaimed them.

"What am I your keeper?" he rages. Raising his voice a few octaves more.

"Ah, but what else can you expect from a toy? Bet you couldn't find your head even if it wasn't attached. Fucking whore!"

It was like a hand wrapped around my windpipe.

Squeezing until I couldn't breath properly and at the same time felt like my heart was about to burst through my chest.

Is this what shyness feels like...or is this...is this the true meaning of fear?

"I'm sorry." I mutter. Voice tiny and frail. This man... he is indeed frightening.

"By the time I'm done with you, you will be." he's quick to deadpan.

"I'll fuck you until you puke out your stomach, do you understand pet." He says more as an promise than a statement.

A statement that instantly had me nodding my head and breathing out a quite, "Yes" mainly because I knew not of what that particular word meant.

Other than the fact that it is a swear word and Niall uses that word a lot whenever he brings one of his lady friends over and they have pillow fights and jump on the bed almost every night.

They're always so loud whenever their in there horsing around together. Niall never letting me join in on the fun, but I think that's only because he didn't want to play with me nor share the presence of his friends...

He opened his eyes and gave me a death stare.

His face glazed for a split-second and then he frowned. Lips pursed together and his eyes unblinking as he spoke quite harshly towards me.

"Yes what, Tomlinson...?"

And at that very moment, if his eyes were a weapon; the piercing look in them could have caused serious destruction.

It was as if he was a lion and I'd just ventured out into his territory, and oh goodness gracianious was he ready to attack.

But I didn't know what he wanted me to say.

I was at a loss.

Confused in a sense because the only other wording I could come up with to appease him was solitarily,

"Yes, master Styles."


	8. Mad in the A.M. pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry." I mutter, voice tiny and frail.  
> "By the time I'm done with you, you will be." he's quick to deadpan.  
> "I'll fuck you until you puke out your stomach, do you understand, pet." He says. More like an promise than a mere  
> statement.  
> A statement that instantly had me nodding my head and breathing out a quite, "Yes" mainly because I knew not of what that particular word meant.  
> He opened his eyes and gave me a death stare.  
> His face was glazed for a split-second and then he frowned. Lips pursed together and his eyes unblinking as he spoke harshly at me.  
> "Yes what, Tomlinson?"  
> And at that very moment, if his eyes were a weapon...the piercing look in them could have caused serious destruction.  
> It was as if he was a lion and I'd just ventured out into his territory, and oh goodness gracianious was he ready to attack.  
> But I didn't know what he wanted me to say.  
> I was at a lost for words, because the only other wording I could come up with to appease him was solitarily,  
> "Yes, master Styles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short I know, but this is only a filler. Things get a bit spicy in the next chapter... well at least in my opinion. Xp

* * *

 

     

 

     

 

"Good, now piss off!" he shouts.

"Go to the bedroom and get some fucking sleep, damn useless piece of shit." Sir continues to spit in obvious annoyance.

I can only nod as words fail me. Quickly turning on the heels of my feet and sprinting through the many, many hallways of the luxurious estate.

High tailing it towards massive bedroom doors, where I vaulted onto what was said to be my new bed. A pillow practically suffocating my face as I accept torment.

Once that first tear got away, the rest followed. Creating a huge pool onto Master Styles' custom made pillow case.

My lungs rummaged for oxygen.

My sobs heaving at the same force as someone drowning at sea.

The flesh under my ribcage throbbed, my cheeks burned, and my mind created memories & scenarios that made the tears continue at an unsparing rate.

My past children... I remembered them all.

Each being even more extraordinary and challenging than the next.

I remembered the good times and bad. All ranging from countless arguments and disagreements were we couldn't see eye to eye on an certain subject; to staying up late hours of the night, watching old reruns of big brother and the British bake off, whilst we laid cuddled up on a small two seater sofa with a cuppa and a box of maltesers.

Distinctly could I recall Aiden's (my third child's) first dance recital; where he twisted his ankle whilst attempting a back handspring, up till my first encounerment with Niall. 

Him spitting words of venom at my face when I suggested we be friends for about the _71st_ time that same week of meeting one another...

A ghost of a smile finds it's way onto my features at the virtuous memory.

Oceanic blues growing heavy from the overwhelming mass of recollections of love and happiness from my very psyche. And without further warning, my orbs flickered into that of darkness due to extreme fatigue.

 

_...The following morning..._

  ***3rd persons/ Louis' pov***

 

Slowly rising from the depths of oblivion; with feeling returning to both his fingers and toes at such a leisurely pace, Louis grunts. Rolling onto his left side where he lays curled up more tightly. Hugging at his knees between frail arms.

Even in sleep Louis could tell that something about the atmosphere surrounding him didn't seem. . . .quite right.

Cautiously opening one eye he quickly peruses the room. Awareness coming in a flash.

This was not within his comfort zone. No, not in the least.

This place was strange and in some ways frightening.

' What had happened?

How had he gotten here?

Where even was here?

What was the purpose of him even being present!? '

So many notions scrambled themselves to the surface of his brooding thoughts in such an unsparing velocity, that a thin film of perspiration began to form on his brow and barely visible upper lip.

When the Angel had woken up, he expected to be in his own bed. But as we all already knew, he was not.

Louis sat up straight and tried to remember where he was.

Mind drawn blank.

That is until he recalled that he was in the notorious _"Styles Manor",_ that it felt like a stone had been dropped to the very bottom of his stomach.

Fear was setting in and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

No comforting words nor thoughts.

Not anything!

Nothing reassuring came to mind. . .except, prayer maybe?

 

 

 

 

 

> 'I run to you, Lord, for protection.
> 
>  
> 
> Don't disappoint me.
> 
>  
> 
> You do what is right, so come to my rescue.
> 
>  
> 
> Listen to my prayer and keep me safe.
> 
>  
> 
> Be my mighty rock, the place where I can always run for protection.
> 
>  
> 
> Save me by your command!
> 
>  
> 
> For you are my mighty rock and my fortress.'
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> . . . Amen.

 

 

 

I slid out from underneath the thick quilt.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

With what little light provided by the suns early morning rays, I feel for a bedside table and flick on the light switch. The digital clock reading 5:00 a.m. in boxy red numbering.

It's become apart of my Angel instincts to awaken myself at this time, every sunlight of Tuesday-Saturday's... (being that Sunday and Mondays are know as self resting days); to make sure that Niall has properly eaten, dressed himself, and hasn't completely lost all humanity to his deadly desires, before heading out to do whatever it is he had planned for said day.

Drug services, counselling, and even self-help groups... I've tried contacting numerous of there ministrations for assistance many-a-times.

All the sites I've researched say that they could help to offer the support my child needs and at any stage as well, whether he'd be ready to change his behavior or not.

They'd capture him by force if they had to, but... but I can't let them take my Nialler.

He wouldn't be able to live without me. He said so himself one drunken night. Well,

sang actually.

 

 

   

 

> "I can't live
> 
>  
> 
> If living is without you
> 
>  
> 
> I can't live
> 
>  
> 
> I can't give anymore
> 
>  
> 
> I can't live
> 
>  
> 
> If living is without you
> 
>  
> 
> I can't give
> 
>  
> 
> I can't give anymore."

 

 

 

Were his exact words by that darling woman Mariah Carey's song "Without you".

That day Nialls voice emitted a sound so rich and velvety.

His tone of voice sounding exactly the same as Disney princess Snow White, if not better!

His voice was as beautiful as the orange-winged amazons singing just outside.

Pitch peaceful and oh so carefree that tears were threatening to stream down my horrid features at the remembrance of such a grand day.

I decide, just for a while that is, that I'd need to stop thinking about Niall for the time being as all these sudden flashbacks I'm getting aren't in no way, shape, or form easing my reckless nerves.

No, they only strive to keep me in this ruffled state mind of mine.

With that I stand. Making my way across the royal room and into it's conjoined bathroom to freshen up a bit and completely snap myself out of this remorseful, drowsy-like demeanor.

As I walked into the cold bathroom, my bare feet smacking lazily across glossy tiled floors, I couldn't quite contain the awestruck gasp that tumbled from my mouth as my eyes wondered about.

I could easily smell the fresh pine with just a hint of Lysol disinfectant spray when I trudged in. Quick to assess the crisp white face towels that were laid in a stack next to the marble sinks counter top.

In a daze, I subconsciously snatched one off it's handle and ran it under hot water. Putting it up against my face, I felt relieved and a bit comforted for just awhile that is.

I was too stressed!

Setting the towel down I scurry over to the full lengthened mirror to get undressed and inspect my body.

It's become part of my daily routine, you know? To see if there are any possible marks temporarily engraved onto my skin... I don't know really.

Recently in this stay here on earth, every waking morning I would relentlessly have to undergo careful investigation of any possible life threatening marks or bruises on my body, due to the countless punishments Niall deemed fit to dish out towards me.

Simply because I was being a nuisance... a _bad_ boy.

I almost tripped when I slip over my own two feet.

The wash cloth having dripped water onto the glossy floor almost causing my back to smack against the bath tubs marble surface.

In a huff, I stood up and once again began my walk towards the other side of the room.

Momentarily relieved that the only bruises I find were a hand print wired across my neck and a purple boot-like print, most likely caused by those strange men from last night, found positioned right smack in the middle of my back.

But alas, all to soon that sudden surge of relief I felt just a little while ago fades at an unsparing rate as I frown.

Puzzled by my current attire...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you all are enjoying this story so far !!


	9. Mad in the A.M. pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...brief recap...
> 
> It's become part of my daily routine, you know? To see if there are any possible marks temporarily engraved onto my skin...I don't know really.
> 
> Recently in this stay here on earth, every waking morning I would relentlessly have to undergo careful investigation of any possible life threatening marks or bruises on my body, due to the countless punishments Niall deems fit to dish out towards me.
> 
> Simply because I was being a nuisance...a bad boy.
> 
> I almost tripped when I slip over my own two feet.
> 
> The wash cloth having dripped water onto the glossy floor almost causing my back to smack against the bath tubs marble surface.
> 
> In a huff, I stood up and once again began my walk towards the other side of the room.
> 
> Momentarily relieved that the only bruises I find were a hand print wired across my neck and a purple boot-like print, most likely caused by those strange men from last night, found positioned right smack in the middle of my back.
> 
> But alas, all to soon that sudden surge of relief I felt just a little while ago fades at an unsparing rate as I frown.
> 
> Puzzled by my current attire...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd part 2 is out !1!  
> Please do enjoy !

* * *

 

 

     

 

     

 

One brow curled up and my mouth opening into a perfect 'O', giving my face the look of a question mark.

I was rendered speechless as I continued to gaze at myself in the reflective objects surface.

The soft fabric seemed to have graced my delicate body and the V-neck lining as the top sat just across from my teats.

That fact alone in term made me feel somewhat like a princess in her gown &... I didn't like it.

If anything I was the ratty looking peasant boy that somehow wound up in this royal establishment.

The grey cotton-like material draped along my bear skin as I looked into the mirror. Only to see someone standing there in a comfy like dress.

Appearing to be coming out of some feminine romance like novel.

The unexpected sharp thud of a knock on the door causes my thoughts to disperse.

A stony voice, of whom I immediately make out as Mr. Edward, speaks from the other side of the door.

"Lou, are you okay in there?" he questions.

"Y-yes!" I call back.

"I... I'm just washing my face is all." I stutter out, hoping that he'd just leave me be.

Not wanting for him to see me in such an embarrassing state. Morning impressions are always an important factor, in my opinion.

"You sure? I mean, you're up pretty early..." he says. Trailing off towards the end.

"I'm an early bird Mr. Edward. So please don't fret over my bizarre actions." I reply wholeheartedly.

"Well when you've finished freshening up how's about you meet me down stairs for a cuppa." annnd what!?

Is he trying to be nice to me? or is this some sort of plan he and his Mr. Styles construed in order to trap me here.

"Would you like that?" yep they've most definitely planned this. Why else would he be up at this god forsaken time? Unless...

"Yes, please. Um... I'll be down in..uh...just a bit."

"Alright, I'll be waiting in the dinning room."

There's silence until the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing is heard.

I release a sigh of relief at his disappearance. Eyes once again drifting back to wards the mirror.

My facial expression just a bit on the passive side, but nevertheless I stalk out of the magnificent bathroom.

Heading towards the bedrooms walk-in closet to find a new change of clothes or maybe even a pair of sweatpants to cover bile inducing espy of atrocious calves and pudgy thighs.

But I find no such thing, seeing as the closet is bare minimum of anything other than metal hangers and what seems to be an old sock drawer hiding in the corner of the spacious room.

I waste no time in opening up the chest.

Immediately finding a coupling of items that just might be of some help in my current situation.

The pink and mint striped thigh high socks were what caught my eyes the most and I simply couldn't resist the urge _not_ to try them on.

They looked cute and though I didn't know the reason as to why, I really wanted to look somewhat presentable for Master Styles.

I wanted to please him...

' Maybe then, would he like me a just bit & all thanks to my wishful thinking, possibly release me from his possession '; my thoughts spoke as I ventured out of the room. Descending down the escalier.

I looked down the dust free, wooden stairwell. Glossy- _lustrous_ it was.

A cold, hard fact that it'd look broken or in this case cracked once I stood upon it.

Though magnificently built; the stairwell looked like something someone would easily fall on.

Someone dumb and with two left feet like me self, more like.

I took my first step down. Knuckles turning white as a dove from gripping the hand rail that was no doubt polished down from dusk till dawn.

My legs were trembling.

Repetitive, involuntary shaking.

I was just so anxious as to what faith lay ahead, once I'd fully descended.

I took another shaky step down.

The cloth of my sock covered feet unexpectedly sliding forward and I sucked in a deep breath of air.

Grabbing onto the steps railing like my life depended on it.

The feeling. The rush... like something you'd experience on roller coaster rides when the car goes down a steep hill suddenly.

If you don't know the feeling, I'll be the first to let it be known to you that it feels like the midsection of your gut is quickly becoming numb and is trying to escape out of the top of your ribcage.

And no. I'm not talking about the movement of the body due to acceleration, but the effect I felt on my stomach. Or at least, what I thought I'd felt.

As to my surprise; when my eyes opened, I was still holding on to the rail.

However the defined arm tightly enclosed around my middle had me snapping my head in an uncomfortable motion. Searching to find it's rightful owner.

I needn't look far as, not even a second later I find my target...

His tousled dark brown hair, which was thick and lustrous. Face so strong and defined; with such stunning features molded from, what I would guess as, the most expensive of granite.

Crescent of moon eyebrows that were so thick and narrow as he carried me down the seemingly endless array of staircase steps.

Those forest green eyes of his shooting daggers up ahead as I ogled an imperious nose and angular cheekbones, carved down towards a flinty jaw.

Not even noticing when he sits me at the kitchen island.

"Lou- _Harry?_ " Edward utters baffled where he stands from the stove.

But I'm so enthralled by the other's mere presence that I didn't make out his words.

Heavens.

I didn't even take note of him placing me on one of the kitchen stools until misters raspy voice speaks.

"Why don't you try being a bit more careful next time." he says. Sounding a bit annoyed.

"I can't exactly play with a broken toy, now can I." master states rather than questioning. And from there, is where my mood suddenly depletes.

A melancholy expression no doubt had to of appeared onto my features as I felt a bit dejected by his words.

"Sorry." I mutter.

Silently asking for pardon, but master gives me an hard look as if to say apologize correctly or else. So I do just that.

With eyes focused on my fingertips that were nipping at my thigh-high socks, I begin to ask for master's forgiveness the correct way.

"I'd like to express my regret and say that I'm really- _deeply_ sorry, Master Styles." I speak. Though lowly.

"I shall be more attentive of my surroundings in the future." I stated finally.

Silently congratulating myself on not slurring the words.

I smile at the accomplishment. Eyes drifting from jittery hands to Master's awaiting gaze. Or...so I thought.

When my baby blues peered up to find his mossy greens I was met with the sad fact that master wasn't even looking my way, as he was sat there taping away on his phone.

I couldn't help but ponder if he'd even acknowledged my words...

"Hey, you don't have to apologize Lou." Edward tries to reassure.

"Harry didn't mean it that way."

But again, I couldn't accept his words. Because, ' what way could he have possibly meant when he spoke such harsh words ' , my thoughts echo.

I wish to physically move my mouth and ask just that; however I have this gut feeling that me voicing my thoughts would be the wrong thing to do. So instead I shake my head in disapproval.

Inwardly praying this conversation would end so that I'd be made to go up stairs or something of the sort.

"No, he's right. I- I got a bit nervous while coming down the stairwell. And I guess I didn't notice which way my feet where moving and ya'know... just kindda... slipped." I mutter.

Explaining the accident that happened just minutes ago.

"Well at least you know what you did was wrong and extremely careless, so your not too dense." Master states bluntly.

And you know, I'd be sinning if I said that his words didn't cause my heart to tighten just a bit.

Especially when he continues on to say, "I'm just glad I don't have to train you as thoroughly." that my heart feels as if it's a crashed plane.

The smoke from the smoldering fire clouding my thoughts, making it hard to even breathe.

"Harold!" Edward scolds with an indiscreet shake of his head.

"Sorry Lou. Harry's just a cranky old man who woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Ed tries to make a funny and joke about our current conversation, but as to be expected I didn't catch it in time.

However, I did catch Master Styles grunting at his words. But alas, said nothing in retort.

At his lack of speech, I attempt to chat up conversation with Mr. Edward.

"But he doesn't look that old, Mr. Ed." I say, chuckling behind microscopic hands. And not a second later do I hear master Styles having a bit of a coughing fit right beside me.

'Oh goodness', I wonder to myself. What could have caused such an outbreak?

I try to pat his back to rid him of the urge to gag up anymore puffs of breath. But he shrugs away my touch.

The rejection tugs at my heart, but I do not give up? No.

Instead of trying to invade his personal space like before, I simply offer him a single napkin of which Master takes without much resistance this time.

"Aw, Lou. You mustn't get too close to that big bad- 

"Are you going to start my coffee or what!?" Master Styles curtly dismisses Mr. Edwards talking whilst he continues twiddling with his phone.

"Oh uh. Someone's a little grumpy p-

"Finish that sentence and I'll gut you like your hamster!" he says. Once again cutting off Edwards speaking.

Mr. Ed himself, seeming a bit shell-shocked at the announcement.

A few seconds pass before he breathes.

"You killed lil Tim!?" Edward nearly yells, appalled.

"Little Tim and Greta the guinea pig." he quips with not even an ounce of remorse in his tone.

I would have laughed at the new discovery had it not included the seriousness of killing/ torturing an poor- _innocent_ animal.

And though I am neither vegan nor vegetarian, to do such a thing... to pray on the poor and defenseless... that type of behavior, in my book, is totally uncalled for.

Edward, himself, seems to have gotten a wee-bit teary eyed but it all happens in a flash because he's suddenly plastered at my side.

"I can't have such a threat so close to my Lou!" cries Edward. Lifting me by the backs of my thighs he carries me further into the kitchen.

"There. Much better." he breaths.

Carefully seating me on top of the granite countertop. Edward, himself positioned directly between dangling limbs.

He's so close that I immediately make out the familiar spicy scent that radiates from his very being. He uses the same cologne as my Nialler.

I, myself subconsciously moving closer towards his broad chest. Inching bit by bit.

Trying to get an even closer whiff of the earthy musk that reminds me so much of home.

A growl much more frightful and menacing than the last could be heard from across the room.

The man, himself who projected such a terrifying sound was sat pointedly on the kitchen stool.

Emerald irises seamlessly staring into my very soul.

I begin to have a mini panic attack and try to hide my face away into Edward's scruff for a brief second, before I avert my viewings his way.

Only to see his face contorted in spleen with an raised upper lip to bare pointed teeth and furrowed brows.

"Edward." he calls. Though eerily.

Those mossy orbs narrowing in on me and me alone. Causing myself to cower into Edward for protection.

"Ed!" Master exclaims. Much louder than before and I briefly wonder to myself,

'why is he so mad?'

I don't know what could have possibly happened to bring on such a swift change of mood.

My hands fist at fluffy, orange hair and I whine a octave higher when I hear the dreaded sound of Master Styles' chair screeching backwards.

The marble tiles howling in agony at the abrupt action.

I already know of what's to come next. It's the same with Niall.

All I can think now is that I've got this.

I could take the pain.

I could do this.

I can do this! But-

Masters bigger. More broader than Niall himself.

The fact sends shivers running down my spine.

He's going to hit me & it's going to hurt like a butt check on a stick! But I don't move.

I can't run.

I know I am to sit here and accept my punishment without resistance. As it is, I am nothing more than a mere slave... Masters toy.

"Oi! Harry. Sit." Ed shouts. Pronouncing each word venomously as I brace myself.

Trying to time the first blew in my head whilst simultaneously blocking out the world and all it's inhabitants.

"Don't be like that towards someone like him."

"But he-"

"Just do us all a favor and sit the fuck down. Mate seriously, the kids already scared enough just being here. Your gonna make it worse, Potter!" Edward tries to reason. But I've already tuned out reality.

Retreating into my safe zone.

There's silence as Edward tries to bring me back from the depths of oblivion.

I wish to stay in this dream state of mind where I am reunited with my friends and family, but I know I've to get back... I need to be strong for him. For Niall.

He needs me as I need him right now. Oh goodness he must be scared.

He probably thinks that I've abandoned him or something of that nature.

Jeez. Why did I have to be such a weakling!

Had I not been spacing out that time, I would not be in this predicament I'm in now.

Right now, at this very moment in time Niall and I would have been going about our daily routine of eating a box of coco puffs whilst we cuddled on the love seats watching old re-runs of big brother until his phone rings at exactly 10:07 a.m.

Meaning he'd have to leave me home alone for the rest of day in that cold-empty apartment complex...

Don't go away. I don't want to be alone. I can't stand being alone!

"Where's chef Payne?" Mr. Styles internally groans.

Making the thoughts of my past life cease to existence.

"I need food." he continues to mutter, exasperated.

"He's out sick. Remember?" Edward states dismissively as he rubs soothing circles across my lower back. The calming gesture aides in easing my mindset.

So to show appreciation for steadying my frantic heart, I loop my arms underneath the navy blue suited coat & around a muscly back.

Holding the man in what I would like to believe ta be a tight- _kindhearted_ embrace as I whisper my utmost thanks.

"It's okay. Your alright. I've got you, love." Edward murmurs gently.

Practically squeezing the life force out of me but I don't push him away as his close promoxity makes me feel safe and oddly contempt in his holds.

I know this all might have been a set-up of some sort. But here, in his embrace was so gentle and caring that I couldn't help the small part of myself that ever so forcefully tucked my head away underneath his neckline.

Trying to get into a more comfortable position for a proper snuggle.

"How's about you quit your cuddling with my toy and make me food, you damn ginger-snap." he tries for jokes.

Trying to sound a bit less angered but he couldn't fool me.

I knew Mr. Styles was still enraged no matter how calm his expression may read.

"Ru-uude." Edward sing songs.

The warm air that escaped his mouth causes a gush of wind to hit the underside of my left earlobe. Causing me to erupt into a fit of giggles.

I can hear a hint of a small trace of withheld laughter when he addresses me. "Louis, do you want to-

"No! You do it." Master rushes. Always so quick to cut Edward off.

"Uh, uh, uh. I think Louis should get a say in this, since I asked for his help and not yours." Edward smiles. Eyes trailing from Master Styles to myself.

"Right, Lou." he coos. Ruffling my already mussed up hair. I nod, though hesitantly. My eyes refusing to cross paths with the other party in the room.

"Edward. Your really beginning to get under my skin. You know how I deal with bothersome people. Seen it all in live action, actually." he snarls. Rising to his full stature.

The abrupt gesture causes Edward to react almost immediately. Covering my small posterior.

Shielding my body from any and all possible wrong doings.

Edward's abrupt movement causes Master Styles to blanch out his remark. Angular jaw ticking as he speaks.

"Calm your defenses Double-O-Ginger." he snips.

"I'm leaving for work." Master declares and with a flick of his hair he departs from the dinning room. Retreating upstairs.

"But I haven't even started brewing the signature, Yauco Selecto AA coffee beans."

"Well if you weren't so caught up trying to impress the eyesore, maybe I'd have a damn espresso in my hand by now." Master explodes. Pointing a long finger my way.

His pulse visibly speeding up and breathing seeming to have gone very shallow.

Muscles tensing and even I could feel his temperature rising at such an unsparing rate.

I bet if you were stood inside this very room, I'd have reason to believe that even you could feel the blood boiling within red & blue veins.

The rooms temperature had no doubt increased even after master stalked out of the room in a fit of rage. Most likely to get dressed for work. Leaving Edward the task of apologizing on Master Syles' behalf.

"I'm sorry, Lou. Harry didn't mean anything by what he said. He... he's just going through some things and you know it's early in the day." Edward is quick defends. Taking on the parental authority role.

His stance instantly converting from a stoic businessman to a worrisome mother apologizing for her child's unkind behavior.

The act itself almost makes a hum of approval spill past my lips. Because by gods, right now Edward is just too precious!

"He doesn't have to go into work until 8 today anyways, so I wonder..." Edward begins to mumble the words.

Trailing off his choice of words to ponder over thoughts in his mind. I give him a bit of time before speaking.

"It's okay Mr. Ed. I've been called a lot worse." I say. Chuckling at the remembrance of Niall calling me a hand full of names that time one time I tried to cook oatmeal in the microwave.

I didn't think that it would need water since the packet read ' just microwave for 1 minute and enjoy! '

Niall had called me every name in the book all ranging from the few swear words I knew to childish taunts like 'Lou-the-Loon' and 'Lou-ney toon.'

I smile. Pushing aside the memory for now.

Locking it away, deep within my mindset as I continue to be outspoken.

"Really. I'm neither angry nor offended." I truthfully state.

"There's this quote I read not to long ago that said,

 

 

 

 

 

> _' The world needs more anger. The world often continues to allow evil because it isn't angry enough. '_

 

I recite.

A small smirk playing out on Mr. Edward's face when I go on to say, "it's one of my most favorable quotes by Bede Jarrett." I murmur as he continues to stare me down.

His gaze never once straying from my face as he observes. Analyzing me. It seems like forever until he speaks.

"Ya'know... in these past few hours that I've known you, I think I've figured out what he means when he looks at you." he says as I peer at him doe-eyed.

Completely confused by his words because, what is he talking about?

How who looks at me? And whoever they are, why are they watching me?

I didn't understand.

I was to lost on the subject at hand. But I dare not ask him the meaning behind his words. It wasn't that I was to afraid to question him.

I just knew that whatever query I asked, he wouldn't utter not even a peep. So with that thought in my mind I keep my mouth shut tight.

Desperately trying to comprehend the meaning behind Edwards words.

"I don't know why he's acting the way he is; nor do I know where all this immense hatred manifested itself deep within that boy originated from. But one things for certain... I'm going to find out." he declares.

"The Harry I know wouldn't. . .he'd never. . .he told me you were-"

"Edward." a voice speaks. It's Master Styles.

"You'd do yourself well if you just quiet yourself down, now."

Turning my head I look on to the ill-tempered man. I didn't quite get the chance to look at him properly after he'd left in that enraged state earlier, so I turned.

Looking back for a second at the last moment as I observed the mans gawky physique. And let's just say, well... I didn't really regret it.

He couldn't have been much older than my human form. Perhaps maybe 3 or 4 years my senior.

He was lean and perhaps well built under the heavy trench coat.

The messy brown hair that spiraled and curled on the top of his shoulders earlier were now sat in a beautiful messy bun at the top of his head.

He caught my eye.

Virescent orbs piquing with sudden interest as he addresses me.

"Tonight at exactly 11:15 p.m., you are to be sat in an kneeling position in my office. We are to discuss the requirements you will abide by while you are under my roof." he speaks.

Not once acknowledging my nod of understanding. Because in a flash, that intrigue disappeared and he went on his way.

With hands tucked away in his pockets, Master Styles was gone.

And I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh Harry's got some rules for his boy !  
> xb


	10. Thin Maple Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.'  
> -Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

 

     

 

     

 

Moss dripped from sickly dark tree's, like decaying flesh.

Deep shadows seemed to ooze, move & threaten in their own volition.

Every branch held the promise of something dark, gray, and slavering for blood.

Even the wildlife held it's breath.

Seemingly sharing my fear.

Every tree in this thickly forested, misty and light-less glade seemed to hide some ghastly secret or ghoul.

Even the wind in the boughs sounded tenuous, sickly and fearful.

A few leaves hover from where they're blown...

Floating in the air as the bats who perched themselves on feeble branches begin swooping towards the moon.

It's light gleaming through the flying leaves just a second before they reach the ground.

The wind whistled through the bare branches of the trees... their roots curling round my legs & branches pulling at my hair.

The forest floor was dappled in silvery moonlight. But instead of the light providing comfort for me, it instead casts eerie shadows against the trees.

Causing me to now see the hidden outline of a shadowy figure, amongst strange creatures hiding behind them.

Watching.

 _Waiting..._ I didn't understand!

It was as if my brain had short circuited and needed to be rebooted again to function correctly.

Around me everything was in fast-forward while I was rendered motionless in the middle of it all. Lost in thought.

How could this happen?

_'How is he here? I thought I'd seen the last of him 7 years ago!?'_

The voices are shouting now. Trying to make awareness of it all. But alas,

I couldn't make sense of anything!

I was in too much of a shock to process anything that I hadn't notice the cloaked figure slowly creeping towards my way.

There he stood. Positioned directly behind me.

Of course I, myself, having not even acknowledged his presence. That is until the feel of bony angular palms abruptly scrunch themselves across my windpipe. Thus, effectively snapping me out of those frantic thoughts.

"The dog isn't here to stray you away from my path any longer." a voice gurgles.

From this persons tone alone, I could immediately make out just whom the speakers owner might be...

And let's just say that, that fact alone frightened me to my very core as I stood there, feet rooted to the ground. Visibly shaken by this beings close promoxity.

"That's just our luck. Isn't it, little lamb." Death breathes. Hot- _steaming_ breath of air fanning out across my face.

The smell of rotten decayed flesh hitting me like a runaway train.

It's putrid stench causing my nostrils to flare & I almost retch. Struggling to get out of his dense hold.

Like, 'please breathe the other way. You're bleaching my hair.' my thoughts attempt to joke. But I know better than to fuck with him when he's less than a step away.

"Do not fight me, little lamb." Death coos. Flexing bony, jagged-edged fingers over a slim neck and I begin to panic.

"No!" I shout. My voice, no doubt holding the unmistakable tone of fear and desperation.

Hopelessly trying with all my might to free myself from his restrictive grasp.

"Why do you resist?" he questions. "Is it because of his presence that you do not wish to be at my side anymore?"

"What? No. I-" I begin to say. Immediately getting cut off in the process of trying to explain. 

"Try as you might. We both know that in due time, you'll surrender." he speaks.

As if he knows of my tragic outcome.

"You'll come willingly." he declares with not an ounce of hesitation.

"I'll never give up. I won't stop fighting you. Ever!" I wanted to cry. To scream! But my throat was empty.

"You'll try." Death taunts. A sinister smile distorting crude features.

"Oh, you'll try so hard, my precious little lamb. But we both know just how you'll meet your end." the horrid being speaks with a strong hand.

Arm outstretched towards a lurking shape half concealed in the shadowy abyss.

"Why, just ask your mother..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too short? I know, but I'm in a bit of a dilemma. I'll be in the hospital for a while due to complications concerning my pancreas.  
> Soooo, all up-and-coming updates will be done by none other than by beta, Adriana.  
> Hope you've enjoyed!  
> -Charliee


	11. Silent Expanse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.'  
> -Marcel Proust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Continuation*

* * *

 

     

 

     

 

At the mention of the dreadful noun: mother; with lighting- _quick_ speed, I spun on the backs of my heels.

Thoughts running a mile a minute. And panic rising at the notion of reuniting with the likes of that woman.

You know, I always thought that after you lose someone important in your life, that someone being your mother... I assumed certain symptoms would begin to take effect.

One omen in particular, being your throat often feeling as if tight for long periods of time.

Ya'know. Kind of like it'd sometimes feel as if you're about to cry or something in that desolate moor state of depression, otherwise known as yourself.

I mean, isn't that what other individuals in my shoes have done?

Sat about and mourned over the lose of that special someone...

Experiencing the rush of feelings all raging from an exponential and overwhelming feeling of emptiness to aloneness, grief & abandonment all rolled into one event.

Emotionally it's very painful. Is it not?

I've read that it feels as if the sun will never shine again.

That you've both an emotional and intellectual aching hidden deep within your very being.

The pain you feel, it comes in waves like the oceans tides. Those immense feels you get, almost overwhelming at times.

But in time you'll pull through. Or... so they say.

They say everyone who's experienced such a life changing event such as the lost of someone with special meaning has overcome those grievous sensibilities.

Well... all except myself.

No, instead of letting such a thing as my mother's passing _'break'_ me, I just carried on living my life.

I mean sure her death came as a shock. And look, I'm not in any way implying that this is what it is like for anyone else.

But for me, there was no period of mourning that was intense, heart wrenching nor agonizing.

Because for me... there was only regret. Guilt.

That's the main physical symptom I can remember at this time.

I think I can recall a time that I might have also been extremely tired for the first month or so. But,

That's a tale for next time...

The first night after she died, I was mostly silent outwardly, out of respect for others in the household ( _I was staying with whatever bloke she was sleeping with at the time_ ), but I never once felt as though I were screaming from the inside.

Initially, the way I felt at the time may have induced the feeling of anger, for which there was no salve for time.

And though I did feel sorry for my mother more than myself, it was just the incredible wave of sympathy I held dear for her, that eventually led me to hate the woman even more.

Mainly because, the hardest thing I've ever felt about losing her was rue...

Regret of all the time that I could have possibly spent with her. Ya'know?

When she wasn't high off her ass.

I felt contrite about the fact that she had to go through the whole process of getting beat, raped, and spit on by all those men she choose to let in her life... _our_ life.

I am regretful in the fact that she couldn't stay here with the people she'd claimed to have loved. Adored even.

I felt... light headed almost.

Strange that.

Just by being at her formidable presence, did I feel weak. 

"Claire?" I whispered. Mouth dry & throat tight.

I did not want her here.

In truth I loathed the fact of even breathing the same air as the very person I've inherited an exact estimate of 23 chromosomes from.

And in the reality of it all... was just as repulsive.

"NiNi!" she spoke with forced cheer, I knew all too well. And in recollection of that tone did I snapped.

Blinded in a fit of rage. So much in fact that I couldn't for the life of me hold back the words as they spewed like waterfalls past thin lips.

"No. Nonono!" I chant the words as if they themselves were that of a voodoo ritual.

Speaking in such a rapid pace.

"Your supposed to be dead. I watched as you died. You were gone. You abandoned us. Abandoned me! "I yelled. Screaming in her face.

Wanting.... no. Needing answers.

"Why the fuck are you back? How are you here! What the hell do you want from me!?" I screech. Just wanting to know the reason as to why her attendance is needed.

I knew how she works...

Hell, I am her son. An exact replica.

Just as I am with him, I knew she'd ignore my attempt at interrogating.

Funny that.

It's just as the saying goes, _'some things never change'_ , aye. Like mother. Like son.

"Niall, baby. Why won't you come to that place with mommy?" Claire pouts.

And I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the child-like demeanor.

I mean, how am I not surprised.

Even in the fiery pits of Hell, Claire is just that.

Claire.

"We're a team, remember. We are family, you and I. Family has to sick together." she cries. But I know better than to believe her.

Years ago I would have listened to her without even thinking of the dire consequences. But now... not so much.

She alone broke that tiny- _little_ silver of trust I once had reserved for her solely.

And I'll be damned if I let her hurt me like that again!

Those bullshit promises and deceitful telling's hold no affect on me anymore.

Oh dear Claire, don't you know? Can't you see?

Your words mean nothing to me now. As actions alone speak the truth.

"We were never family!" I snarl.

The remembrance of mommy dearest slurring those exact words as her pimp dragged me down the hallway and locked Greg and I in the only bathroom we had in our small rundown home flashes through my mindset. 

More than likely so the two could possibly get strung out on heroin and other narcotics without the distraction of irritable, juvenile toddlers running a muck.

"You said so yourself." I mutter. Though lowly.

My dull blues fleeing downwards at an unsparing rate, before once again anchoring all my attention to teary oceanic tides.

Waiting for the ever so famous Claire Marie Horan excuse.

"I said that because, I was as high as a kite on whatever drug I was into at the time." she's quick to defend.

"You know that, love." and would you look at that, can you guess the lie?

"No, I don't actually." I answer, almost robotically.

Visibly unbothered at her irrelevant statement.

"And do you want to know why?" I murmur unapologetically.

Cocking my head to the side in an indefinite manner. Short puffs of air drawing in and out of my very being as I begin to rave.

"Because you'd always say that in the past. Drunk, high, heavily intoxicated, or sober you'd always shout about how shit your life was because you got pregnant & had kids. You-"

"Oh shut the hell up with all your fucking whining, would'ya!" she speaks.

Finally showing her true colors. I knew she'd give up the act sooner or later.

"Quit being such a selfish asshole and do as your told, boy." she speaks. As if her words were final.

Little did she know, I'm not that nine year old adolescent boy anymore.

With the fucked up life she gave me, I somehow acquired the animalistic traits of a fiend in various individuals standpoint.

Because of Claire I don't know how to properly care for other's. No, I can only provide fear and sadness.

Thanks to her, the only feelings I somehow manage to uphold are that of anger, rage, & depression.

As a result of her, I'll never be able to live out this thing called life. Only pain & misery.

It's owing of her, I'll forever be known as Niall James Horan.

A liar.

A _cheat._

The problem child... god's greatest mistake to the world. Nothing more nor anything less.

Just that. A fault.

"Oh please. You I and I both know you are in no position to tell me what I can and can't do," I sneered maliciously.

Taking small nerve-wracking steps until I was stood directly 2 feet away from my irritable kin.

I, myself not even noticing when death releases his fierce hold on my nape a few minutes prior to Claire's unpleasant arrival.

"Because as far as you and I are certain, you were never mother material." I orate.

"If I am to be quite honest with you, a few years after your passing, when I meet Louis who might I add was nothing more than a mere stranger hell bent on becoming my friend... my best friend," I don't even know what the hell I'm saying nor am I able to comprehend or fucking process how this rant even began. Right now, in this very moment I've seemed to just now realize that Louis... my Loubear may possibly be the greatest thing to have ever happened in this meaningless life of mine.

And I'm not quite sure what I'll do to myself once he grows tired of me and walks out that front door.

Out of my life.

Gone forever, like the snows of yesteryear.

Only then, when that day comes; will I willingly surrender myself into the abyss that is darkness.

"That is a fact I am very much conclusive of. That, that boy... that moronic, fatuous boy was more of a parental figure than you ever were!" I roar. Eyes teary and jaw clicking.

We stood there. Subtly saying nothing. Nada.

It was peaceful.

Something that she'd never once given me, even after her death.

The atmosphere was eerily calm. Not a sound ringing out from the shimmering emptiness of the continuous space surrounding us.

Monastery quiet, the trail we were stood on was lined with pine trees and the whiff of mint wafted up towards my senses.

The world and everything on all sides of us appeared to be, as though, they were simply asleep.

That is, until my unfit caretaker decided now would be a good time to lacerate me where it'd hurt most.

My mentality.

"That boy doesn't love you." she spits.

There's something in her tone that suggests she knows something I don't. But then again, I could just be over thinking things.

"He's gonna leave you." she smirks.

"Why should he stay when you do nothing but bring down and beat on the boy all the time?" Huffing Claire props a pale, bony hand at her waist & juts her hip out.

Presumably trying to intimidate me, but little does she know now-a-days only one thing could scare me witless.

And I can only hope that, that _one thing_ doesn't happen anytime soon.

"He won't leave." I bark. Though my voice betrays me.

I could feel my nerves tingling like they're being tickled with a small feather, but I don't dare let my feelings show.

"Oh you wanna bet, bastard child. He will!" she chuckles. Blunt in speech.

"Everyone & anyone always desert people like you and I. He'll stop loving you. Little by little. Your precious Loubear will forget all about you."

And she's right. I'll give her that; but I'm changing.

Or at least, trying to.

There's only a matter of time before what she says becomes reality.

And I do not wish to live what was not life.

Not without my secret remedy. My wonder drug.

"I'm not like you!" I screamed. As loud as a wolf howling for it's pack. 

"Oh baby boy, you really should take a long look in the mirror before you talk such shit." Claire speaks. Her tone mocking.

And if it weren't for the fact that she was already dead, I'd have killed her this very instant.

"You must 'ave been born on a high-way," I shrill. Completely at a lost with none other than myself as my mouth continues to natter away. Spitting profusely.

"Because that's where most accidents happen, sully bitch."

"Wanna go there, you speed freak junkie!"

"ENOUGH!" Death voice booms somewhere behind us.

Jaysus, that scared the hell out of me. I'd forgotten the fact that he was even here!

"Claire," he voices, monotone. "you are no longer needed." he dismisses.

And with a snap of the creatures skeletal fingers, she was gone.

"Awe, did she have to leave so soon? I was just about to poison the tea." I jest. Narrowly rolling my eyes.

"That was a horrid attempt of a joke, little lamb." death speaks, passionately.

"Do you wish to come now or wait the premonition out?"

"What'd ya think?" my voice rings out. No doubt sarcastically.

"That I'd come willingly?" I question, quite frankly bemused by him even asking such a thing.

"Because if you did than, for Satan's right hand man you my friend are a shit thinker." I say with finality. Getting fed up of being in this dreary atmosphere.

I just want to get back to home to Lou & have him cuddle me.... he gives the best hugs. He's the only one that actually cares about my well being; as much as it pains me to admit.

"Fight all you wish little lamb. But know you can't escape the inevitable." the death god voices eerily.

Though hidden beneath those shadows I can clearly make out the remnants of a smirk as he wishes me an pleasant resting.

"Sweet dreams. I do hope I'm in them. Well of course I am! You're already mine as I am yours; now & even forevermore." he snickers. Turning his back to me & with just a swing from his axe; everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk, but I think this is how Charliee would have wanted this chapter to play out. I went on a rollercoaster of emotions just from simply typing from where she left off. My goodness...  
> I don't know about you but this gave me shivers!


	12. Where Are Ü Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Yet mad I am not... and very surely do I not dream.'  
> -Edgar Allan Poe, The Black Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Niall's Pov*

* * *

 

     

 

     

 

I shot up straight in bed.

Drenched in immense sweat, I was. And breathing deeply- _heavily._

Looking all around me; trying to get a feel of where I was. A sense of reality.

Phew!

I'm in my room.

It was just a nightmare.

'A dreadful- _terrible_ nightmare', I thought to myself as recollection processed.

Images of the " **Pale Death** " accompanied with that of my deceased mother flashes throughout my mindset all at once.

How will I be able to sleep after that?

'Will I ever be able to sleep?' I thought as I lowered my body back into a laying position staring at the ceiling.

What the hell was that all about?

I don't tend to have nightmares anymore. Though the occasional bad dream, yeah.

Regularly I'd have those types of dreams that affect me emotionally for about half the day. But I haven't had a real nightmare since I was a young boy.

When I was a kid, I had a recurring nightmare which consisted of me being alone in our decaying home, sometime around nightfall.

Each light would be on in every room. And in each room was an oval metal wastebasket, full to the brim with dead flowers.

And you know what... when I think to myself I can conclude that, that was no nightmare.

It was life.

My life. My past...

The unusual September heat was nothing but uncanny as I felt yet another thin layer of sweat drip down the nape of my neck.

I peel away smooth, silk sheets.

Stepping out of my king sized bed and walking towards the attached bathroom, where I washed my face with frigid water. Scrubbing the sleep and unbearable heat away.

"Lou." I call. Slipping on a pair of old- _tattered_ sweats, I exit my escape room.

Leisurely walking across the narrow hallway towards a certain someone's bedroom door. As at this very moment I wanted the type of comfort that came with reassuring words.

Needing- craving an all exclusive, 'Louis Tomlinson Cuddle' after the screwy episode that took place in my room earlier this morning.

"Looou-bear!" my voice sing-songs.

Knocking twice before turning the doors knob and walking in without so much as a second thought.

The lumpy figure catching my eye as soon as I take my first step into the much smaller room.

"Louis, you still asleep mate?"  I seemingly question to no one but thin air.

 _'You say mate but friends don't abuse one another do they'_ , my thoughts taunt, mercilessly. Though I don't dwell on the subject too long.

As I instead continue on in my recent searching's.

Slinking my way towards the teeny-tiny, bite sized figure that laid curled up in a heap of thick covers, fluffy pillows & an outrageous array of oversized stuffed animals.

Positioned directly in the middle of the wooden bed. Gently rocking the twin sized mattress to and fro.

"Wake up, bud." rise and shine, baby. I whisper.

Obviously trying to coax the boy out of sleep. Though oddly enough, he doesn't stir.

The discovery alone raises nothing but suspicion and intense dread.

I didn't know if I was feeling this way because of my persistent and irrational paranoia... or;

The fact that I still might be just a wee bit high from last nights outing, that I'd begun to freak out when I didn't hear the sound of dulcet singing coming from the kitchen.

In turn, when I couldn't smell the burnt essence of the chocolate chip pancakes, Lou tries so flipping hard to make for me every Monday morning.

"Maybe he went out," my thoughts speak. I assume trying to reason with myself.

Perhaps that's why the house feels so. . .empty. Yeah. Maybe that's the case.

Hell he may have even went to work early, seeing as his vans weren't stationed at the wall of his mini wardrobe.

My mind was made up.

Nevertheless, I didn't want to leave this very room as all of my senses were telling me that something dangerous had happened.

And no matter how much I attempted to think otherwise, all thoughts lead right back to Lou in immense distress.

For all I knew, either my wonder drug was dead and the murderer stood right outside this bedrooms door waiting for me;

Or Lou was perfectly fine wherever he was and I am simply overreacting.

And for the sake of my sanity, I hope the later proves true.

Not a minute later, after being deep in thought did I know something was amiss this hapless morning.

Simply because Lou always forewarns me if and when he leaves our home. No matter the time of day.

In my mind it was right of me to feel the way I felt about Lou's queer absence, you see.

I figured the longer I waited, the less of an opportunity I'd have to save him. That is... if he were in any real danger.

Otherwise, I'd go back to my room and have a very much needed toke.

Well... after my cuddle session with Lou that is. But much to my dismay, he isn't present at this time.

I, still half asleep might I add; grabbed Lou's slightly smaller than average robe from a near by hook.

Needing in the very least his wispy-lilac scent to calm my swelling nerves. All thanks to that shitty nightmare.

Fuck! I'm on edge.

I paced around the tiny bedroom. Inhaling deep breaths of downy & herbaceous oils. Imaging myself walking through a field in spring, full of new life, & rubbing aromatic leaves between nimble fingers.

Theoretically drowning myself within the clean- _mellow_ fragrance and soft materials of natural aroma.

Currently contemplating if I should walk out or not. Until finally, after a few minutes of pondering that I decide to take a leap of faith. Opening the room's door.

Before I took even a step out of that room, something told me to check the digital clock that sat propped against baby-blue walls on an wooden oak stand.

Shit, it's early!

6:37a.m. the clock read.

Meaning Lou had to 'ave woken up 15 minutes before his alarm went off.

"Great." I thought out loud.

This better not be some sick joke he's pulling, because if it is I'm gonna beat him to a fucking pulp... after I receive that cuddle.

I took two steps out the door. Creeping down the hallway. Looking both left and right.

My senses on high alert.

Viewing if any and everything were in their rightful places.

Nothing had been moved nor looted & I could see the Range Rover resting in the driveway.

The fact summing up that I must have guessed right the first time; he wasn't here!

I raced downstairs to see if Lou, my sweet remedy left a note like he always did.

I needed to reassure myself that he didn't just hightail it out the door after that stunt I pulled last night.

But alas I find nothing.

Zilch. Nada!

"What the hells going on? Where is he?" I question to no one but the air surrounding me. Feeling quite nervous.

I was beginning to think something was terribly wrong and maybe that dream from earlier was no dream at all.

No, not at all.

Maybe, just maybe, it was a warning...

There's a frightening crash followed by the abrupt closing of an aspen- wooden door, that sounded from somewhere down the hallway.

Mind you... the only doors being present downstairs are the front, closet, & bathroom doors.

A silent humming could be heard from behind the restrooms door frame. Accompanied by the crinkling sound of a shower curtain being drawn back.

I immediately make out the whimsical tone of "Take Me to the King", song by that 'Tamela Man' lady Louis' so engrossed with.

I'd know that song from anywhere. It's just gotta be Lou. I can feel it in me gut!

I ran.

Sprinting faster than the speed if light.

Hurrying through the hallways corridor and blatantly entering through the rooms only entrance.

Seldom, was I expecting to find Louis with that fresh outta the shower look.

But alas, what greeted me instead was the message inscribed on the bathrooms mirror in what appeared to be at first glance that of a red marker.

If I didn't already feel restless then, I certainly did now.

I was uneasy. Anxious.

I felt fatigued ...

As if my legs belonged to that of a new born bambi, I could hardly stand as my static blues reread the sentence over and over again.

The inscripture causing my body to quiver and ache until I collapsed onto white tiled floors. Where I lay in a massive heap.

Secluded from society, with a polluted mind and a heavy heart.

 

 

> _'When your memories exceed your dreams, the end is near.'_

 all the love,

 

- **G. R.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished editing the chapters of this story (made a few tweaks here & there as well) and I just gotta say; I don't exactly like the way this chapter came out. It was a bit all over the place & possibly repetitive, but I'm okay with it for now. 
> 
> I gonna get back into the swing of writing again, just give me a bit.
> 
> Hope it was enjoyable !!  
> Xd


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